


i bet these memories (follow you around)

by dettiot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:36:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 44,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles & ficlets originally posted to my Tumblr.  Title from Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift.  Mixed ratings; anything mature or explicit will be noted in the summary.</p><p>Chapter 25: bitches get stuff done; spoilers for 5x12</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sick

**Author's Note:**

> Written for holysmoaksoliver.

"Almost there," Oliver whispered in Felicity’s ear, carrying her into her townhouse. 

She weakly murmured. “‘m so sorry …” 

"Shhhh." His lips were already brushing against her temple before he realized what he was doing. But he couldn’t believe it was a mistake—not with how she cuddled in against him. 

They had been having dinner when Felicity had suddenly bolted for the ladies’ room. Oliver had only stopped long enough to ensure none of her food contained peanuts before standing outside the bathroom, asking each woman who went in to check on Felicity. He had been ready to go in, regardless of the unspoken rules, when she had slowly walked out. One look at her white-as-paper face and unsteady movements and Oliver knew what he had to do. 

They had stopped once on the way home for Felicity to dry heave along the side of the roadway. He was starting to get more worried about her. ”You’re sure it’s not anything you ate?” 

She shook her head weakly. ”No … the flu’s been going around the office. I must have gotten it.” 

With how she burned the candle at both ends, spending her days at Queen—Palmer Technologies and her nights at the Foundry, he wasn’t surprised she was sick. But he was worried. 

"We’re here," he said softly as he carried her up the steps to her front door. "Let me have your keys." 

"Should have just given you a key this summer like I wanted …" Felicity mumbled, holding out a heavy-looking key chain, studded with keys and little pop-culture objects. 

Oliver felt his heart skip a beat. _Later_ , he told himself. Right now, he couldn’t let himself be distracted. 

"Where’s your bedroom?" he asked, hearing how unnaturally deep his voice was. 

Felicity weakly waved her arm towards the stairs. ”Second door on the right.” 

"Okay," he said, rubbing his hand against her back as he climbed the stairs with her. "Do you feel like you have a fever?" 

With an adorable little snuffle, she shook her head and buried her face in his shoulder. 

He wondered if he should have taken her to the hospital. But it did seem like she just had the flu. And if he had gone to the emergency room with her … he wouldn’t be able to take care of her. And deep down, in spite of all his high-minded ideals and speeches, Oliver knew that when it came to Felicity, he was weak. He would take any opportunity to spend time with her. 

Swallowing, Oliver stepped into Felicity’s room. Her body was soft and relaxed against his, and the gentle, steady breaths that hit his neck in a rhythmic pattern told him that she had fallen asleep. He tried not to let his mind wander as he gently laid her on the bed, then moved to take off her shoes and set her glasses on the nightstand. Her clothes—a silky blouse and a slim-fitting skirt—weren’t the most comfortable thing to sleep in, he guessed, but he wasn’t sure he should change her into her pajamas. 

No … Felicity would be too embarrassed to find he had undressed her. 

A trip to her small, tidy kitchen for a glass of water and some crackers, followed by examining her medicine cabinet and locating aspirin and a bottle of Pepto, gave him a chance to banish all those fantasies. By the time he returned to her room, he felt more in control. 

Only to lose all that control when confronted with Felicity’s bare back. 

"Oh—sorry—" he stammered out, feeling remarkably like he had the first time he saw a naked girl in person. 

Felicity yanked a t-shirt over her head and looked at him blearily. ”Pajamas,” she said, before padding back to her bed and getting under the covers. 

Oliver felt his lips twitch into a small smile. He’d never known Felicity to be so monosyllabic. It was almost like their positions had reversed. If it wasn’t for why she was so quiet, he’d be even more amused. 

Setting the supplies down on the nightstand, he leaned down to lightly brush some hair away from her face. ”Do you need anything, Felicity, before I leave?” 

"Don’t go," she said softly, her voice soft and a bit slurred. "Deserve a nice bed." 

"I do have a nice bed," Oliver said, letting himself perch on the edge of her mattress. "It’s back at the Foundry. Remember? You bought it for me." 

She squinted up at him. ”The flu didn’t give me amnesia.” 

Unable to help himself, Oliver ducked his head as a soft chuckle escaped him. ”True,” he said, looking back at her. 

"You should laugh more. Don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh …" 

Felicity’s words, ones that she probably didn’t even realize she was saying, made Oliver suck in a breath. Because … he wasn’t sure when the last time he laughed was. Really laughed, that is. 

Slowly, he reached out and lifted a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. ”I don’t laugh a lot … but you make me smile more than anyone else ever has.” 

She let out a soft sigh and rolled onto her side, cuddling her cheek into the pillow. ”Tha’s nice, Ol’ver.” 

Somehow, he doubted she really felt like that. His words were too much like another maybe. It killed him a bit that he kept hurting her by giving her hope … but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop loving her. 

Oliver leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. ”Sleep, Felicity. I’ll be right down stairs.” 

There was no response; Felicity was fully asleep now. And even though it would be so easy to sit there and watch her sleep—to imagine that he was doing so under very different circumstances—Oliver instead rose to his feet and left her room, leaving the door half-open. 

Because Oliver Queen always did the hard thing when it came to his emotions. So he sat on Felicity’s couch for the rest of the night, just … soaking it in. Being in her space, in her home. Letting himself, for one night, feel the peace of her presence. 

In the morning, she was better—well enough to shoo him away. And Oliver went, because he knew that was what she wanted. But he would have given all the money he used to have, would have traded away Queen Consolidated, if he could have stayed for a little bit longer.

With her. 

End.


	2. reading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for effie214.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Inspired by this image](http://effie214.tumblr.com/post/104869036316)   
> 
> 
>  

When he comes back from the store with the donuts, since it’s his Saturday to pick them up (although it always seems like his turn—not that he minds at all) Oliver discovers that Felicity is awake. He had left her murmuring into her pillow, talking about five more minutes as he kissed her forehead and left her coffee on the nightstand beside her side of the bed.

Now she’s sitting up, sipping her coffee, but instead of using her tablet, she’s reading a book. She’s got it held up in front of her face and all he can see is the author photo on the back.

"Whatcha reading?" he asks as he settles in beside her, the bag of donuts in his lap.

Felicity jumps, yanking the book away, and Oliver steadies her coffee. “I’m gonna institute No Stealth Saturdays if you keep doing that,” she says, mock-glaring at him behind her glasses.

He grins at her. “What about the other night, when I came up behind you and you made that little gasp and said—”

"Never mind what I said then," Felicity says, shifting and moving her coffee mug to her other hand. "Did they have those pumpkin donuts?"

"Maple frosted," he says, handing it over to her. "Where’s your book?"

"Book? What book?" she says, before taking a huge bite of donut. "Mmmmmm," she says, since it’s the only word she can say without showing him half-chewed donut. 

Oliver rolls his eyes and slides his hand behind her, pulling the book out from behind her pillow where she had hidden it. “This book.” He looks at the cover, then back to Felicity, an eyebrow quirking. 

She swallows quickly, her face going red. “Good morning!” she says, leaning in to kiss him, her arm sliding around his neck.

As much as he loves kissing Felicity, she’s not getting off that easy. Even if he does kiss her for a few moments before he pulls back and continues this conversation. He flips the book over and starts reading the description out loud, watching as Felicity hides her face behind her hand.

"Seriously?" he asks when he’s done reading. 

"Yes, seriously," she says, elbowing him gently and taking the book back. "I was only reading it for comparing purposes."

Now both his eyebrows have gone up. “Comparing? Comparing what?” 

"Us to them," Felicity says, a bit grumpily, as she gestures towards the book. "How we compare to a romance novel." 

"Why?" he asks, wondering if this is one of those men vs. women things. 

She shrugs her shoulders as she leans in against him. “Because looking back, if I could have read a book that had our story in it, and the characters ended up together … it would have been nice.” 

Oliver gazes at her for a long moment. “Yeah?”

"Yeah," she says, nodding. 

"I would have liked that, too," he says, brushing a light kiss over her cheek.

Felicity’s smile is brighter than the sunlight coming in through the windows. 

"Of course, I doubt any romance novel could show how amazing our sex lives are …" Oliver says, grinning widely even as Felicity yanks her pillow out and thwaps him with it across his face. That lets him take her coffee and donut away so he can kiss her properly. Kiss her and more. 

But he forgot about the bag of donuts, which get crushed underneath him. But it’s okay, because Felicity shares the rest of her donut with him afterwards.


	3. clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 3x09 and speculation for beyond. Just my own personal head canon that most likely won't come true. Italics from Clean by Taylor Swift.

_the drought was the very worst_

He doesn’t know why he remembers this or how he even knew it in the first place, but the island that Oliver had spent five years on was called Purgatory.

A year and a half in hell is equal to five years in Purgatory, he thinks. 

“You will be known as Rhen,” Ra’s Al Ghul says, the day he’s informed of his first assignment. “You are prepared, Rhen?” 

And the man once known as Tommy Merlyn, reborn from the Lazarus Pit and forged into an assassin after a year of brutal training and trial, nods slowly. “I am prepared.” 

When Oliver returns to Starling City, he has a shadow that he doesn’t realize is there. 

XXX

_when i was drowning/that’s when i could finally breathe_

‘Rhen’ translates as pawn, so Tommy has been told. It doesn’t take a genius, which Tommy most certainly isn’t, to understand why he had been given that name. He assumes it has something to do with his father, with some stratagem by Ra’s in their chess game.

Although maybe it’s about Oliver. 

And someday, he’ll figure out why he’s never seen as his own man. Why he’s always an extension of his father, of his best friend. 

Pushing such thoughts down deep inside him, Tommy crouches into the shadows along the rooftops, watching Oliver as he stops in the mouth of the alley by Verdant. An alley that leads to a concealed entrance. An entrance that goes into the basement lair of the Arrow. 

No one is in that lair now, though. They’re all standing in the alley: John Diggle and Laurel Lance and Roy Harper, and a blonde whom Tommy never met, but knows is Felicity Smoak. Their conversation is quiet, restrained. None of them knows the bomb that’s walking right towards them.

It’s Diggle, the former bodyguard, who first senses something different. He looks at the mouth of the alley and sees Oliver, drawing a gun on him instinctively. Harper and Laurel ( _his Laurel, at least he wanted her to be his so badly_ ) step forward, moving cautiously and flanking Diggle. Only Felicity doesn’t move. She stays still, even as Oliver argues and pleads and nearly begs with the other three while continually looking towards the blonde.

When she does move, she only takes one step. She must say something, because Diggle lowers his gun. And then Oliver is wrapping his arms around Felicity, holding her tightly, and then they kiss. 

Tommy watches this all. Watches how his best friend clings to the woman that Nyssa warned him about. “There are limits even for the brightest of lights,” she had said when he had been given this mission. 

To watch and to wait for further orders. To stay hidden. That was his mission. 

On the surface, at least. He didn’t know much about chess, but he knew that pawns were unimportant. Only good for sacrifice.

XXX

_the water filled my lungs/i screamed so loud_

Ra’s Al Ghul always plays the long game. It’s something his father has apparently forgotten. Or grown too impatient to consider. Because Malcolm Merlyn is shocked that his son is alive and a member of the League of Assassins and in Starling City. 

It has been months that Tommy has been watching Oliver Queen, watching him with his team. He has seen the bonds grow even stronger between the Arrow and each member. And they all pale before the one between the archer and the hacker. 

Shaking his head, Tommy tells himself that the poetic mumbo-jumbo is for Ra’s. The point is, Oliver is head-over-heels for Felicity Smoak, and she feels the same for him. From all his watching and listening, though, Tommy knows that while Oliver has freely told her that he loves her, Felicity has held back. 

He thinks tonight will change that. 

On the rooftop of the former Queen Consolidated headquarters, Oliver is part of a three-way confrontation between Ra’s and Malcolm. He is guarding Felicity from Malcolm’s soldiers and the League of Assassins as she does something with her tablet. 

Oliver will lose this fight, Tommy suspects. It’s why, when he realized what his best friend was planning, he took up position on a nearby rooftop, armed with his own bow and arrow. He’s no archer; he’s better at close quarters. But he can do enough. 

He is Rhen. He is a pawn. But Tommy knows that he’s worth more than an useless sacrifice.

The fight begins. Malcolm’s forces go up against the League of Assassins, and for a moment, Tommy just watches. But then Oliver is forced to intervene, leaving Felicity unprotected. 

There’s a moment when Oliver looks back at the woman he loves, and Tommy lifts his bow. 

The Arrow turns and joins the melee. And if anyone comes within three feet of Felicity, Tommy fires an arrow into them. 

He drops five men, then fires a grappling arrow into the side of the QC building. The sensation of hanging weightless in the air, fifty stories above the pavement of his hometown, lasts for a split-second and forever. Then he’s thudding against the side of the building and climbing over the knee-high ledge that surrounds the roof. 

Felicity is still working on her tablet, talking nonstop to someone who’s not Oliver over a comm device in her ear. She gasps as Tommy lands next to her and her eyes go very wide behind her glasses. 

His eyes meet hers, and he lifts a finger to his lips, even though the lower half of his face is concealed by his mask. “Keep working,” he says quietly.

She nods, looking pale, then her fingers are flying over the surface of her tablet as Tommy draws his sword and hacks at anyone who approaches. 

What is the purpose of a pawn? Sacrifice, yes. But it is sacrificed in order to protect the queen. 

If only Tommy could, like the thousands of times he had when he was alive, tell Oliver about this pun on his best friend’s last name. 

But he doesn’t get a chance, because his father approaches Felicity while Oliver is fighting Ra’s. And Tommy runs him through with his sword, but not before Malcolm lands his own blow. 

The gravel on the rooftop digs into his face and soaks up the blood issuing from his wound. Felicity reaches with trembling hands to press against the gash, but Tommy just shakes his head. “Leave it,” he says, his voice raspy. 

“No--no--Oliver--” she gasps out, ignoring him and sending pain skyrocketing through his body as she applies pressure. 

There’s not much time left. “Don’t--don’t wait--tell him--Felicity--”

She looks confused and he manages to get the words out. “Tell him you love him. I’ve been watching--I know you do.” 

“Tommy?” she whispers, slowly and unsteadily, like she’s just too much on the edge to even be shocked that this is how they’re meeting for the first time. 

Weakly, he pulls his mask away.

“Tommy?” 

It’s Oliver’s voice. Oliver standing over him, panting, blood running from his wounds, but alive. Oliver, looked amazed and hopeful, even as he crouches down and sees the wound in Tommy’s side. 

Somehow, he manages to smile a little. “Surprise.” 

Oliver lets out a broken laugh, which is what Tommy wanted. At least this death has a lot less crying. Less crying and more happiness. Because Oliver’s got Felicity and Ra’s is dead and so is his father and--

_think i am finally clean_

End.


	4. one-two-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [MachaSWicket](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket). "I am still waiting for the _Felicity dry-swallows three benzos in between finishing her hair and starting on her makeup, because shaking hands don’t mix well with liquid liner or mascara brushes_ fic. ::semi-patiently drums fingernails on desk::" Spoilers for 3x01, obviously.

Her knuckles were white around the steering wheel as she drove home from the Foundry. Not from the traffic, which she wasn’t expecting because when had she _ever_ driven home from the Foundry at an hour that wasn’t in the middle of the night? Never, that’s when. But she was doing it tonight, because she had a date with Oliver and--

And there was the panic. Again. 

Because she had a date with Oliver. Not the Oliver from her Hebrew preschool, who always had a runny nose and said he was going to marry her when they grew up. But Oliver Queen, with the face and the eyes and the abs and the things south of his belt buckle that she tried really hard not to think about.

Her anxiety had so many layers, it could be a mille-feuille. Nervous flaky pastry and creamy self-doubt, combining into a dessert that was going to give her heartburn. 

Or break her heart. 

“No. None of that,” she muttered as she pulled into the parking space outside her townhouse. “It’s just a date.” 

But it wasn’t. Because it was _Oliver_. 

Okay, clearly she needed wine. A nice glass of wine, something to take the edge off, let her relax and enjoy getting ready. Because normally she loved getting ready for dates, even the ones with men whom she wasn’t that excited about. 

Unlike this one, which she couldn’t believe had happened because it was Oliver asking her out--and he had seemed nervous when he had done, barely getting his words out and that wasn’t Oliver at all. Oliver had been nervous about asking _her_ , Felicity Megan Smoak, out on a date. 

So maybe wine wasn’t going to be enough. But a benzo would do the trick. Yeah, definitely. 

She stepped into her apartment, taking the time to lock the front door behind her after all those security lessons Digg had drilled into her head, before going straight to the bathroom. Her hands were actually shaking as she pulled the bottle from her medicine cabinet and struggled with the child-proof cap.

This wasn’t a dream, was it? She wasn’t going to wake up and be back in her cubicle at Queen Consolidated, removing porn and viruses from executive computers and writing code to improve QC’s firewalls because she had never met Oliver, right? 

God, if she had never met Oliver. Oliver, with his eyes that made her feel butterflies whenever he looked at her lately, with his voice that seemed to get soft and intimate whenever he talked to her, with his hands that never went long without touching her shoulder or her elbow . . . 

Why couldn’t she get the _stupid_ bottle open--

The cap flew across the bathroom, ricocheting off the door to her shower with a ping. She jumped, nearly ramming the bottle into her cheek, and wouldn’t that have been a great look for tonight? 

Felicity dry-swallowed a pill, then took a few deep breaths. Okay. She could do this. Just give the benzo a few minutes to work and she’d be able to do everything she needed to do to get ready. 

Replacing the bottle cap before she started the shower, Felicity made herself focus on details. Get undressed. Step into shower. Wash and condition hair. Check if she needed to shave anything, which brought back a flutter of anxiety that she did her best to squash. Body wash and then step out of the shower to dry off. 

Her stomach tightened as she looked at her closet, standing in her towel and wondering just how big she wanted to go. Because clearly she was going to wear a dress, and while she wasn’t quite confident enough to go with the black one with all the cutouts--thinking she wasn’t hot enough for that dress would be the whipped cream on top of that mille-feuille of anxiety--she definitely didn’t want to wear something she would have worn when she was Oliver’s EA.

Which really left only one choice. Red. Wouldn’t reveal her nonexistent cleavage. But did have a very sexy back. And no, she did not need Justin Timberlake in her head with everything else that was going on in there!

And she needed to calm down and let the benzo work. 

Okay. Clothing was set. Now it was time for hair and makeup. Good. She was good at hair and makeup. 

But doing those things meant looking at herself in the mirror. Watching as she tried not to freak out. 

Oliver. Oliver had asked her out. How was this happening? Because he was . . . _Oliver_. And it was getting to the point she had thought his name so many times it was starting to lose all meaning. _OliverOliverOliverOliver_. Was he acting like this? Was he staring into a mirror somewhere--at Digg’s, or in the tiny Foundry bathroom--and wondering if he was handsome enough, if he was good enough? No, of course not. He was Oliver _freaking_ Queen. 

_He was nervous to ask you out_ , some tiny shred of logic piped up. 

Damn it, the benzos must be old enough to have lost some of their potency. Felicity jammed her hair dryer under one arm and fumbled the bottle open, taking a second one. There. That would be enough. Enough to finish her hair and get her makeup done and get her to the restaurant. Yeah. 

Thank God she had just done her nails this morning--there was no way she could apply nail polish tonight. Because she was really, really nervous. Not that she was unaware of that fact. 

But . . . but it was okay to be nervous, yeah? Oliver wasn’t just the hottest, most handsome men she had ever seen, let alone spent hours upon hours with--and quite a few of those hours had been with him shirtless and sweaty. But . . . he was also her friend. Her partner. The person who could make her smile, the person she loved to make smile even if it was at her own expense. He knew how she took her coffee, he always knew when she was cold in the Foundry and fixed it by draping that grey hoodie over her shoulders, and he trusted her _so_ much with so many of his secrets. 

He had also managed to fool Slade into thinking that he loved her. 

Her hands are shaking again. How the hell can she apply liquid liner with shaking hands? She can’t, not if she wants to look like a woman and not a raccoon. And she needs to look like more than just a woman--she needs to look perfect. 

She wants tonight to be perfect. 

Felicity knows she’s already past the recommended dosage and she won’t be able to drive, but she quickly takes a third benzo before she can change her mind. After a minute, her hands stop trembling and she’s able to do the rest of her makeup. But she’s careful not to meet her eyes in the mirror. 

This date . . . it’s the start of everything she wants. A future filled with love and happiness and belonging, all wrapped up in a gorgeous six-foot-one man who likes to dress in green leather and fight crime as a hero. A hero she told him he could be. 

It’s too much to put on anyone’s shoulders, but she’s always thought that Oliver’s shoulders are just broad enough to carry all those dreams. Just like her shoulders, while much less broad, are strong enough to carry what he maybe wants to put on her: belief and hope and healing. 

The dress fits her like a glove, her heels are high enough to get her that much closer to Oliver, and she finally feels calm when she takes in the complete look in her mirror. More than calm . . . she feels beautiful and ready for tonight. 

She’s going on a date with Oliver. And it’s going to be amazing, to have his eyes focused on her and her alone, to bask in being with him and breathing the same air, without a care beyond making him smile. To finally see if this connection between them is real. 

And to think, it just took three benzos.

End.


	5. birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 3x09.

“So,” Oliver drawled, his voice low. “How many times will I be spanking you today?” His hand lazily slid down her back and stroked slowly over her bottom. 

“Excuse me?” she asked sleepily, looking at him over her shoulder, before rolling onto her back to look up at him. The soft rays of early-morning sunlight lit up his face. “Spanking is one of your kinks?”

“Um, no,” he said, shaking his head as he leaned in to kiss her softly. “Playing around with the pain/pleasure line was never my thing, not even before. But it is your birthday and on your birthday you’re supposed to get spanked . . .” He let his voice trail off before giving her a smirk and kissing her again, slower and deeper this time. 

Felicity sighed against his lips. Birthdays had never been that important to her. Sure, it was nice if people remembered, but really, why should anyone wait until your birthday to tell you that you mattered? That you were important to them? What made the day you began your life the day that everyone thought you should be reminded that you actually existed in the world? 

After all, Oliver told her every single day how important she was to him. Digg didn’t wait for her birthday, or Roy either. Barry and Caitlin and Cisco had just told her last week that they appreciated her so much. 

But if Oliver wanted to make a big deal out of her birthday, she’d let him. She’d let him do anything he wanted, anything that put _that_ smile on his face. 

He nuzzled her softly, shifting his body to cover hers. “You know, you’ve never told me how old you are.” 

“You never asked. Until just now, with the oblique reference to a frankly disturbing and really misogynistic and abusive birthday tradition. I mean, how did ‘the same number of spanks as your new age’ even get started? What sick person came up with that idea?” 

Oliver chuckled, brushing some of her hair back. “I never asked how old you are because a gentleman never asks a lady’s age.” 

It was a toss-up whether she would roll her eyes or giggle. The giggle won. “But you just asked, while talking about spanking me. Oliver, I’m afraid you’re not a gentleman.” 

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wondered if she’d see one of those minute flickers in his eyes, the ones that spoke to his guilt and sadness. But happily, that didn’t happen. It was happening less and less often, she had noticed. Instead, he just chuckled. “I hope you didn’t want to end up with a gentleman, then.” 

Felicity smiled slowly, gazing up at Oliver-- _her_ Oliver. “No . . . I wanted to end up with a hero. Lucky me, I got my wish.” 

And he smiled at her, _that_ smile, the one that made her feel like the whole world was perfect and right and true, because he was here and they were together and everything was good. 

Her eyes closed as he leaned in to kiss her, his hands touching her everywhere, making her feel warm and alive and so glad that it was her birthday--

An electronic beeping made her eyes fly open. She was on her side, her knees curled in against her chest, the soft gray light and the patter of rain against the windows telling her what the weather was. 

Felicity took a deep breath and reached out for her phone, the source of the noise. She silenced her alarm, then looked at the text on her screen.

_happy birthday baby! 3 > mom_

She didn’t look over her shoulder. She knew he wasn’t there. He had never been there, not after any of the dreams she had ever had, the dreams where she imagined having Oliver in her bed. He never was going to be there. 

It was so tempting to close her eyes. To try and return to the dream. But she couldn’t. Oliver wasn’t the only hero around here, and she had to get to work to support those other heroes. 

But that didn’t mean she didn’t roll over onto her back and look up at the ceiling, her phone resting against her chest. And it didn’t stop her from giving in to the sadness and grief and guilt and longing for just a minute. 

“Happy birthday,” Felicity whispered quietly, telling herself that if Oliver was here, he’d say it. 

And then she pushed back the covers and began another day that was just like any other day.


	6. spin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for youguysimserious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Inspired by this image](http://hughjackman1968.tumblr.com/post/103220261414).

It happened so fast that the club was half-empty before Oliver even noticed. Caught up in tweaking a track he was still working on, he looked up and saw people pulling out their phones, making wild gestures, and heading for the doors. He frowned through his last two tracks, which were his best ones. That was Oliver Queen's trademark as a DJ: he finished strong.

But that didn't seem to matter to Randy.

"What the fuck, Randy?" Oliver asked as he looked at the significantly-too-small stack of bills the club owner had given him. "This is half what you owe me."

"You lose half the crowd, you lose half your pay," Randy said, chomping on an ever-present meatball sub.

"That's not my fault! Everyone seemed to just leave all at once."

Randy grimaced. "Yeah, F sent out a notice."

"Who the fuck is F?" Oliver asked, his brow wrinkling as he pushed his headphones back a little to hear Randy better.

"Some new mysterious hotshot DJ. No one knows nothing about him or her."

"Wait, you don't even know--"

The club owner nodded. "We know jack shit. Except there's never any publicity for his appearances ‘til a message goes out on his Twitter." Randy made a face. "Goddamn Twitter."

Oliver frowned as he worked this all out. "What makes everyone care? What's the angle?"

"Dunno, I ain't heard him. Think someone was sayin’ it was the equipment. He gets some kinda special sound outta it."

"But, like how?" Oliver pressed.

Randy let out a soft belch. "I'm telling you, kid, I don't know. F is a ghost, and you've got your cut for tonight." And with that, Randy waddled away.

Shoving the cash into his pocket, Oliver went to the DJ booth to get his bag. His body was on autopilot as his brain tried to figure out why he was worried.

He'd been one of the hottest DJs in Starling City for the last year, ever since he told his parents he wasn't working for the family business. They hasn't liked it, but his success had kept them off his back and let him live his own life: hanging out with his best friend Tommy, throwing parties and hooking up with random chicks.

But if tonight kept happening--if F kept snapping up all the business--he'd be in trouble.

With a smirk, Oliver pulled out his phone. Looked like it was time to unmask this F. All it'd take was a few phone calls and he'd have him. 

Because he was Oliver Queen and he always got what he wanted. 

XXX

Or maybe he didn’t. Because everyone he called--Tommy, the few DJs he was at least willing to talk to, even his ex Sara--no one knew anything about the identity of F. He was rumored to be crazy talented, he mostly played clubs in the Glades until recently, and his sound was something else.

“As long as you’re still getting gigs, why worry about it?” Tommy asked.

“I got to a club he was playing at once just before his last track--it was amazing,” Sara said. “But I don’t know anything more than that, Ollie.” 

The DJs at least had a little bit more. Two of them had three and a half bootleg tracks between them, which they offered up somewhat willingly. As soon as Oliver heard them, this whole pursuit changed. It wasn’t about convincing him to stick to the Glades and let Oliver have the uptown clubs anymore. 

No, it was now about figuring out just how he did what he did. Because the music was just so _layered_. Even in the crappy bootleg recordings, you could hear the complexity. It was 1960s Wall of Sound meets dance music, symphonies of notes and lyrics blending together into something that Oliver couldn’t stop listening to.

Using the last of the nest egg his parents had let him have from his trust fund, Oliver started splashing around some cash, trying to find F. Trying to figure out what kind of setup he had. Because Oliver knew F was so far beyond him, he would wake up at night in a cold sweat, the recordings still playing on a loop, feeling like he was doomed. 

He broke down and signed up for Twitter so he could follow @FtheDJ, feeling a rare spark of amusement at the cheeky username. He got Tommy to join him at clubs that F might show up at, even convinced Sara to take him into the Glades a few times and introduce him around at places he normally wouldn’t have been caught dead at. 

After two months, Tommy staged an intervention. He had yanked the plug for Oliver’s headphones out of his computer and loomed over him.

“Dude, you’ve got to let this go. You’re losing money hand over fist, you never want to party anymore--you’re obsessed.”

“I can’t let this go, Tommy,” Oliver said, turning down the volume and shifting his headphones a little, keeping them on even if no sound came through them at the moment. “I have to figure out how he does it. I have to see him.” 

“Then fuckin’ send him a tweet and tell him you want to meet or something.” It was something to see his easy-going best friend without any patience, so Oliver considered what Tommy was saying. 

Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll contact him and see what happens. And tonight, we’ll throw a party here.” 

“Finally,” Tommy said, throwing his arms up in the air. “My best friend’s back. Let’s get to work.” 

“One minute,” Oliver said, taking out his phone and opening Twitter. He paused for a few moments, ignoring Tommy’s impatient huffs. Then he quickly typed _@FtheDJ fellow DJ & big fan. how can we meet?_

Then he stood up and started helping Tommy, who eventually stopped giving him a slightly-dirty look every time Oliver checked his phone to see if F had tweeted him back. 

XXX

Felicity Smoak yawned as she spun around in her desk chair. It was just before lunch time and she was looking forward to getting out of her cubicle at Queen Consolidated and getting some fresh air--and a venti coffee from the really good coffee shop two blocks away. That would help her get through the rest of her day and then get ready for tonight’s gig. 

Sometimes she still couldn’t believe where she had ended up. When she had volunteered to help an old MIT classmate with some equipment for a side gig as a DJ, Felicity had thought it’d just be a few hours helping a friend. But in the process of looking at what kind of equipment was available for DJs, and trying it out for herself, she got hooked. 

And now . . . she was some super-popular DJ, someone that people were always talking about--often when she was standing right there and everyone was none the wiser! But that was what happened when you had a secret identity. She’d originally gone by the handle F just to keep her DJing from affecting her real job. But the late nights were starting to affect her, and it was getting clear that she could be a full-time DJ easily. As long as she stayed hidden, as long as no one knew who F really was, the mystery did half the work--and her talent did the rest. 

Her phone had been buzzing with Twitter notifications, and since it was now officially noon, Felicity picked up her phone to look them over as she started walking out of the IT department. It was mostly raves for her show last night, people complaining that they had missed it, or club owners begging her to appear at their venues. But she stopped when she saw a mention that had just come in. 

_@FtheDJ fellow DJ & big fan. how can we meet?_

It wasn’t the first time someone had approached her through Twitter, wanting to meet. And it wasn’t the first DJ. But this was the first time Oliver Queen had tried it. 

And that made Felicity freak out. 

Sending off a text to Sara, she waited impatiently for her friend to call her. By the time she got outside, her phone was ringing. “Oh my God, Sara,” Felicity said, not bothering to say hello.

“Don’t freak out,” Sara said. “I don’t know what the big deal is.”

“The big deal?!?” Felicity all-but-yelped. “It’s Oliver Queen--you know, the son of the man who’s my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss? If he’s trying to meet me, what if he finds out where I work? I’d be fired so fast!” 

“You were just saying last night you were thinking about quitting so you could DJ full-time,” Sara pointed out. “So what if you get fired?” 

Felicity blew out a breath. “Sara . . .” 

“Look, Ollie’s throwing a party tonight, he just texted me. Why don’t you come with me and you can meet him? Kinda feel him out and see if you wanna unmask yourself,” Sara said. 

“I can’t let anyone know who I am, Sara . . .” Felicity said, holding her phone tightly. “And I’m playing a show at midnight.” 

“Do the party first, and when the tweet goes out about the gig, you can leave,” Sara suggested. “It’d give you a perfect out if you want to get away from Ollie. Not that you will--he’s a charming and handsome bastard.” 

There was affection in Sara’s words, even though Oliver was an old ex. That, more than anything, made Felicity reconsider a little. Because after all, Oliver Queen’s parties were epic--or so she heard. 

“Okay, okay,” Felicity said. “We’ll get ready at my place and I can stash my bag in your car before we go to Oliver’s.” 

“Yay!” Sara cheered. “Party!” 

XXX

As soon as the door to Oliver Queen’s loft opened, the muted thump of the music became a hammer of sound. But a good hammer, Felicity thought as she stepped inside with Sara. Sure, Oliver was a bit predictable in his choices, a little safe. But he was still perfectly competent. 

But when she caught sight of him in front of his setup, she froze in place. Because his looks were way more than competent. Which didn’t even make sense, but . . . _damn_.

Due to the heat in the loft, he was wearing a pair of low-slung jeans and a white tank, one that revealed just how impressively wide his shoulders were and how dramatically defined his arms were. A set of high-quality headphones covered his ears and he was completely focused on the music, his eyes only half-open. But even with that, and from this distance, Felicity could tell they were a bright, deep blue. 

In a word, Oliver Queen was maddeningly, ridiculously handsome, to the verge of being pretty. Particularly when he was DJing. And Felicity knew there was no one she could meet him, as herself or F. 

If there was one thing that made Felicity Smoak feel like an idiot, it was an attractive man who shared her interests. How else to explain what happened at MIT with Connor? He was hot, he liked to hack, and he was into her even when she was in her Goth period. But it had all ended so terribly, terribly badly. And afterwards, all she could think was how stupid she had been, to let Connor steal from her, to let him risk her future like that. So she had sworn off men who were that one-two punch of handsome and shared interests. She had one-night stands with pretty boys and dated nerds. And she refused to allow the twain to meet. 

Whirling around, she looked at Sara. “I just remembered, I left my--my modulator at the office. I’ve got to go get it before the gig.” 

Sara gave Felicity a long look. “You left it at the office?” Even though the music, the disbelief was evident in Sara’s voice.

Felicity nodded quickly. “I had to work on it and what I needed was at the office and I just . . . forgot.” 

It took a moment of a silent staredown, Felicity hoping she looked innocent and not scared, before Sara sighed and nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” 

She couldn’t help feeling relieved. Now she could focus on her gig and not on stupidly pretty men. But that didn’t mean she didn’t look back at Oliver as they left, something niggling on her as they navigated back through the crowd towards the door.

And then it hit her: his style had changed. Gotten a bit richer, a bit deeper. A bit more like hers. 

Her face felt like it was on fire and she moved even faster to get the hell out of this party. 

XXX

The tweet went out at 11:32. Not the one he was hoping for--it wasn’t a message from F saying they could meet--but in a way it was better. 

_midnight @ ricky’s. life is best lived through a pair of headphones_

Oliver felt his heart beat harder. F was playing tonight, at a club fifteen minutes away--a club that he could easily get into in under a minute. A club that had plenty of secret spots in order to observe the DJ booth. 

Moving fast, he loaded a playlist and set it playing on a loop, then pulled his headphones out of the board and headed for the door. He caught Tommy’s eye, who lifted his hands in a ‘what gives?’ gesture. 

He just nodded and gave Tommy a wink, who then rolled his eyes and waved to him. As much as Tommy might not understand this quest of Oliver’s, he was still a good friend.

Hurrying down to his car, Oliver slid behind the wheel and pulled out with a screech of tires. The closer he got to Ricky’s, the more the anticipation inside him rose. When he started this, it would have been enough just to hear F live. But now? No, he had to meet him. Had to find out how he did it. 

When he got to Ricky’s, it was already packed. There was an electric buzz in the air: everyone knew what was going to happen and the crowd was full of energy. It made Oliver feel alive, made him wish he got this feeling from his gigs. 

The downside was that it took longer for him to get to the spot he wanted to be in, the position that would let him see the DJ booth. He was nearly there when suddenly, F’s standard opening track began playing. 

Damn it, he hadn’t seen him get into the booth. But he’d get to see him leave--that would probably work better. 

Oliver got into his spot and kept his eyes on the door to the DJ booth, determined to not look away. But all too soon, the power of F’s talent made him close his eyes. He had always felt the music better with his eyes closed, and tonight, he wanted to let F’s music just seep into him. It felt like light. As if all the dark and ugly parts of him were being lifted away, made brighter and cleaner. 

It was addictive. Overpowering. And he knew he would never be able to compare to F, but that didn’t matter. This moment, feeling like he was alive for the first time, was worth it. 

The sudden silence made his eyes pop open and he realized F’s set was over. He swallowed and started moving towards the DJ booth, waiting impatiently for F to come out. To meet the man who was more than an idol to him. 

Minutes ticked by, and Oliver was starting to wonder if maybe he had missed him, when the door opened and a small blonde woman stepped out, hefting up a large black duffel. Oliver’s eyes narrowed, not understanding what he was seeing. 

Her curly hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, she was wearing flat shoes, a pencil skirt, and a bright blue cardigan--one that matched her eyes, from what he could tell behind her glasses. Pink lipstick covered her full lips, her fingernails painted to match.

She was the last kind of woman he’d expect to come out of a DJ booth at a grimy club in the Glades, and for a split second he wondered if-- But then he shoved the idea away. 

“Hey, you!” he called out, coming up to her. 

The woman looked up at him and she froze, her eyes going wide. At first he had thought she was just a nerd, but getting closer to her, he could see that she was definitely pretty, with curves in all the right places. “Me?” 

“Yeah,” he said, leaning down so he could be heard over the music playing on the PA system. “Where’s F?”

XXX

Felicity blinked as Oliver Queen loomed over her, standing very close--too close, maybe?--and looking at her with those eyes of his. He reached his hand up to his head, adjusting the headphones he was wearing, and Felicity felt her whole body catch on fire. 

Good God, he was _hot_. 

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “I said, where’s F?” he repeated, clearly thinking she hadn’t heard him. 

“Why are you looking for him?” Felicity said quickly, going with the male pronoun in order to hopefully keep him away from the truth. 

“You’re kidding, right? You must have had a front-row seat to him if you were in the booth, and you don’t know why I’d be looking for him?”

There was a bit of sarcasm and incredulity in his voice. But more than that . . . Oliver Queen was a fanboy. He was fanboying over F. Over _her_. He just didn’t realize it. 

And realizing that, Felicity couldn’t help her lips from quirking up. Because . . . because maybe she should reconsider her ban on hot men with shared interests. Because she wanted him and there was just something about him. And maybe it was time to let someone other than Sara in on her secret identity. 

“You’re not the first to try and figure out who F is,” she said, going up on her toes in order to get closer to his ear. With her flats and his height, they both had to lean in, and when she got a whiff of his scent--all pine tree and rushing stream and male--she wavered on her tiptoes and rested her hand on his forearm for a moment. 

“Do you know him?” Oliver asked, grabbing her elbow with the hand of the arm she was holding. “Can you introduce me to him?” 

She looked at him. “You still haven’t told me why.” 

Oliver blinked, his long eyelashes sweeping against his cheeks as he did so. He was so adorably confused, then his face cleared. “Why? I want to learn from him. I want to know how he does what he does. I want to find out how good I am and see if he thinks I can get better. And . . . and I just want to know why.” 

Now it was Felicity’s turn to be confused. “Why?” 

He nodded, his fingers moving against her skin and nearly making her lose her train of thought. “Yeah--why he’s stayed hidden, why he makes the choices he makes, why . . . why he is who he is.” 

“You sound like you’ve got a crush,” Felicity said, immediately wishing she hadn’t said that. Because she had no idea how Oliver was going to take it. A lot of guys would get offended at being accused of having a crush on a man.

But to her complete shock, he just laughed. “Yeah, I guess I do. Like, if you could have a crush on someone without knowing what they look like or who they are, I’ve got it.” 

Gazing up at him, Felicity felt herself smile slowly. His eyes flickered down to her lips and he looked confused again for a moment, before looking back into her eyes. 

“You really want to know who F is?” she asked, letting her fingers stroke the inside of his elbow. His skin was so soft there, but his fingertips were a bit calloused against her elbow, and the contrast of textures was already driving her a little bit crazy. Making her act so out of character. Or maybe this was who she really was, and the Felicity she normally appeared as was a mask just like F.

His breath caught, then he nodded emphatically. “I really want to know.” 

“Come closer,” she said, then feeling her stomach flip as his nose brushed hers as he leaned in. 

The air snapped between them and Felicity licked her lips. His eyes once again moved to her mouth, but they lingered there for a long moment before he looked back at her. 

“You should know that F really hates being called ‘him’ and ‘he’ when she rocks a pencil skirt so well,” Felicity said softly, watching Oliver’s eyes flutter a little before going very wide. 

And then she pressed her lips against his. 

XXX

_Holy shit._

That was all Oliver kept thinking. Holy shit, this girl is more than pretty. Holy shit, this girl is sexy hot. Holy shit, this girl kisses like a dream and why the fuck was she so covered up. _HOLY SHIT, THIS GIRL WAS F._

It took him a very long time to pull away from her, because kissing her was unbelievably good. But then, finally, it sunk in enough for him to yank his mouth away from her. 

She--F--dropped from her tiptoes and looked up at him, her eyes a bit dazed. But also . . . sad? Worried? There were too much emotion in her eyes and he was too full of lust and confusion to figure it all out. 

He gaped at her, and then she sighed a little. “Felicity Smoak, also known as F,” she said, holding her hand out to him to shake. 

When he didn’t take her hand, still trying to process all of this, she huffed and reached up, pushing his headphones off his head and away from his ears. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to wear headphones all the time?” 

“Um . . . no, it’s not really covered in etiquette classes,” he said dumbly. But then he frowned a little. “And what about ‘life is best lived through headphones’?” he asked, referring to her standard message whenever she announced gigs.

Her eyes went wide and she pushed up her glasses. “I can’t believe you remembered that.” 

Oliver spread his arms wide, feeling a wave of frustration at how this was happening. “Of course I remembered it! I’ve been thinking about nothing but you for two months!” 

Damn it. He really shouldn’t have said that. What the hell was wrong with him? Between that kiss and the revelation that this girl--that F’s real name was Felicity Smoak--he felt like his brain had short-circuited. And without his headphones around his ears, he felt oh-so-strangely exposed.

Felicity looked up at him, then stepped in towards him. “You’ve been thinking about me for two months?” she asked softly. 

With the words out, it didn’t make any sense to deny them. So he nodded. “Ever since I found out about you, I . . . I’ve been obsessed. And tonight, when I saw you were going to be here, after you didn’t reply to my tweet . . . I had to hear you in person. See you in person.” His eyes swept down over her, taking in every inch of her and feeling his heart pound. 

“Disappointed?” she asked, her voice carefully controlled and light. But he could see how tense she was, how focused she was on him as she waited for his answer. 

And damn, did she have no idea how attractive she was? Could she not see how little control he had at the moment, finding out that F wasn’t some middle-aged man with long unwashed hair and nicotine-stained fingers like he had imagined, but a curvy, quirky blonde who made his blood race through his veins? 

She was gorgeous, sexy and alluring--and also the best DJ he had ever heard, would ever hear, in his life. 

Oliver was pretty sure he was halfway to falling in love with her already. 

So he shook his head slowly. “Not at all. Because you really do rock a pencil skirt. But not as much as you rock a DJ booth.” 

Her face flooded with color and her eyes lit up. And as Oliver pulled her up against him, she was smiling so brightly that he realized it wasn’t just her music that was full of light--she was, too. 

“God, you’re hot,” she said, just as he kissed her. Which made him laugh against her lips, and then she hitched a leg around his hip and all he could think about was finding out just what kind of music they could make together.

End.


	7. dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 3x11. Written post-episode to deal with the feels.

She won’t sleep unless she absolutely has to. It’s one thing to stare off into space, to cross the ‘maybe someday when things are quiet’ items off her to-do list, even convincing Laurel to keep going and bringing the team back together. She can do those things.

But sleep? That she can’t do. 

Because she’s scared. Scared of what might happen. Of what her mind will do when it’s let off the leash of her self-control. 

Felicity has always had vivid dreams. It goes along with her imagination and the touch of premonition she has. Because the idea for cronuts came to her in a dream. So if she could come up with a delicious Frankenpastry in her dreams back when she was just an ordinary IT girl . . . what would her subconscious come up with now? 

So she keeps working, keeps moving. Forces her eyes to stay open until she’s so exhausted that she can sleep without dreaming. 

Yet there’s only so much she can do. A week and a half after they get the news about Oliver, Diggle makes her go home. She gets takeout on the way, eats it on her couch, feeling so tired. So unsure. Is this what she’ll have to do for the next month? The next six months? The next two years? Keep working, keep moving, so she won’t think about Oliver? 

Is this what her life is going to be?

No. She refuses to be this grief-stricken woman. So she forces herself to watch TV shows on her DVR, not that she remembers any of the details. And she keeps watching until she drifts off to sleep on her couch. 

XXX

“Felicity.” 

Shifting onto her side, Felicity blinks her eyes open and smiles, feeling sleep oh-so-close still. “Hey.” 

Oliver, dressed in a suit and perched on the edge of the couch, smiled back. “Hey. Why aren’t you in bed?” 

She reached out and fingered the lapel of his suit jacket. “Was waiting for you. Didn’t think this meeting would go so late.” 

Nodding, Oliver brushed some hair out of her face. “Neither did I, but Ray decided to offer several ideas along the way.” 

“He’s good at that,” Felicity said, pushing herself up and straightening her glasses. “Did you have dinner?” 

In the space between a blink, suddenly Oliver’s head was gone. She gasped, scrambling back against the arm of the couch as his body fell back against the cushions and his head, oh God, it dropped onto the floor and rolled, his sightless eyes looking up at her. 

And then a dark-haired man was in her apartment, holding a sword--holding the sword--which he buried in the back of her couch. He was speaking in a foreign language but Felicity could understand him. 

“Due to the purity of your heart, we have returned the remains of your beloved to you. His debt is paid, Miss Smoak.” 

Felicity doesn’t notice, doesn’t care, if the man she knows was Ra’s Al Ghul stayed or left her apartment. She just stared down at Oliver’s face. At the lips that kissed her once and that she never kissed in return.

XXX

“Felicity.” 

“Go ‘way,” she muttered, slapping at him without any force behind it. He catches her hand and draws her arm over his shoulder, and then his other arm is underneath her knees and lifting her up. 

“Nope, not going anywhere,” he said softly, rubbing her back. 

Felicity turned into him, pressing her face against his henley and inhaling deeply of that scent that said Oliver to her. “Mmmm, ‘kay.” 

He chuckled, his chest rumbling against her face and torso. “I love you.” 

That woke her up. Those three words from Oliver always do, because they’re so precious. She pulled back enough to look up at his face and smile at him. “I love you, too,” she said, reaching up to run her fingers along his jawline. 

Oliver smiled at her, but . . . but it’s not his soft, warm, happy smile. It’s not his goofy, toothy smile, or even that tight, slightly unhappy one she’s seen a lot of lately. 

No, this one is sad. Heartbreakingly sad, full of regret and longing and loss. 

At the same moment, she feels wetness seeping into her clothes and pulled back, to see a long, wide, diagonal gash across his chest, from right shoulder going towards the left side of his body. 

“Oh my God--Oliver, put me down--we have to fix this!” 

He sets her down on her feet, but then stands impassively as she tried to figure out what to do. “I’m sorry, Felicity. There’s no fixing this.” 

XXX

She woke up as a crocheted afghan was draped over her. “Oliver?” she asked, her throat a bit hoarse. 

“Shhh,” he said softly. “Go back to sleep, Felicity.” 

“No . . .” she said, reaching out to grab his hand. “I had bad dreams.” 

His eyes, so blue and soft and deep, so clear even in the dim light cast by the flickering TV, gazed into hers. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not like you gave me the dreams, Oliver,” she said, stroking his fingers with her own. Loving how they fit together, his large calloused digits against her soft, small ones. 

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re sure about that?” 

Felicity nodded, tugging on his hand. “C’mere. We can both fit.” 

“How?” he asked, even as he moved to join her, their bodies sliding against each other and becoming like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. 

Once they’re settled, his arms wrapped around hers, he leaned in against her. “What did you dream about?” 

She can’t look into his eyes, so she focused on his Adam’s apple, watching it bob slightly as he breathes and move up and down as he swallowed. “You. Dying. All the different ways your blood could get on that sword.” 

More than seeing, she sensed him nod in understanding. “Do you want to know how it really happened?” 

A lifetime’s worth of deliberation happened in the blink of an eye, and she can’t look at him as she whispers “Yes.” 

His whole chest lifts up and then down as he breathed in and out. She knew he didn’t want to tell her, didn’t want this for her, but she also knew that anything she asked for, he would give to her. 

Oliver leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead, just like before. Felicity closed her eyes.

XXX

_It’s so cold. So cold that he shouldn’t be able to feel the blood pouring out of him from his wounds, the worst being the one on his left side, just under his ribs. But he does._

_Ra’s is speaking in Arabic, a language he hasn’t picked up. So Oliver has no idea what he’s saying. But he’s too focused on what he sees._

_His father, imparting a mission to him._

_His mother, pouring her love into him._

_His sister, welcoming him home._

_His love, breathless from his kiss._

_In the moment of his death, Oliver Queen realized that he might not have happy stories, but he had love._

_And he wished so strongly for more love that somehow, fate gave him a third chance._

XXX

Felicity jerked awake, panting and sweaty and flailing. Her clothes are twisted around her body, her TV is still on and is showing an infomercial for the Nutribullet, and there’s a blanket wrapped around her legs. 

Rubbing at her face, wiping away the tears she’s cried in her sleep, Felicity tells herself they were just dreams. She’ll never know what happened to Oliver. Never know how he died on that mountaintop. All she knows is that it was by the sword that Malcolm Merlyn left in the Foundry, the sword that Digg took away, and there was no body to return. 

There’s nowhere she can go to mourn, to drop a handful of dirt on the coffin or place a stone on a tombstone after a year. 

But after all, she doesn’t need to go anywhere to feel Oliver. He’s all around her, everywhere, and she will never get away from him. 

A sob escaped her, and she pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to hold it all back. Trying to hold it in. Because she can’t start crying. 

She can’t fall apart. Just like Oliver said he couldn’t when Sara was killed. 

It’s late. She should go to bed, try to sleep without dreaming. Tomorrow will be another long day of helping Ray and supporting the team and working hard to protect Starling City. Not because they’re carrying on for Oliver or fulfilling his mission . . . but because it’s the right thing to do and because it’s their mission. It always has been, as much as it was Oliver’s. 

It’s only when she touches the blanket, trying to untangle it from around her legs, that she realized something was not right. Because . . . it’s not the pink and purple afghan that her grandmother crocheted for her when she went to MIT. The one that’s still folded and draped over the back of the couch. 

No . . . this is the enormous gray blanket they kept in the Foundry. The one big enough to wrap around John or Oliver, the one that absolutely dwarfed her. 

Felicity blinks at it, her mind moving faster than Barry while feeling stuck in molasses. And then she’s shoving it away and standing up, facing the darkness of the small dining nook behind her couch. And even though she knew it could only be one person, she still can’t believe it. 

Clumsily, she moved around the couch and stepped closer, feeling her heart race and the blood rush through her ears. 

He’s breathing so slowly and standing so still and Felicity doesn’t know what to do. She wanted to hug him so tightly his ribs cracked and slap him hard enough to draw blood, cry on his chest and kiss him until he’s breathless, tell him to leave forever and ask him to hold her for the rest of her life. 

And then he spoke.

“Felicity.” 

She shuddered, remembering her dreams. She stepped up to him. “Pinch me.” 

Even in the darkness, she can tell he’s wrinkling his forehead in confusion. “What?” 

“Pinch me. Prove that I’m not dreaming. Prove that you’re not dead,” Felicity demanded. 

Light as a feather, his hand cups her elbow and she nearly breaks down. But it’s not until his fingers moved to the soft skin of her inner forearm and gently but firmly squeezed that she let herself slump against him. 

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her in against his chest, and Felicity bites her lip hard. It’s him, it’s Oliver, he’s back, he’s here, he’s holding her and she doesn’t know how or why, she’s still not sure that she hasn’t gone crazy, but . . . but she’ll let herself be crazy for just a little bit, if she gets this. 

Her hands tentatively reached out to rest lightly against his sides, just above his hips, and Oliver breathed out, his whole body relaxing, and Felicity stepped closer, sliding her arms around him, too. His breathing felt choppy and choked, or maybe it’s hers, or maybe both of them. 

“I want to hit you,” she mumbled against his chest. “And kiss you. Oliver.” She tacked his name on at the end, needing to say it. 

“Anything you want,” he said, his voice breaking a little. “Anything, Felicity.” 

She can’t handle this. It’s too much, too big for her to deal with. Nothing’s changed between them: he still loves her, but he won’t be with her. And . . . she can’t tell him how she feels until she knows he’s willing to at least try. 

But . . . but for this moment, she’s giving herself a pass. So she drew back from Oliver, balled up her fist, and slams it as hard as she can into his shoulder. 

“Ow!” she yelped, hopping back and shaking her hand out. “That hurts!” 

Felicity doesn’t need light to know he’s smiling at her. That amused smirk he always got at times like this. And it’s so achingly familiar and perfect and right that she can’t help herself. So she reached out, grabbing a handful of his shirt over the shoulder she just hit, and pulled him down to her. 

When her lips touched his, she could feel him shudder. Like he was finally getting something he had wanted for so long. So Felicity made it last, because he wasn’t the only one who wanted this. 

Because she loved Oliver Queen with all of her heart and soul and mind and body. And this kiss would have to last them until they could figure things out for real. Because she wouldn’t kiss him, or let him kiss her, until they were on the same page. 

It was time to stop dreaming even if they were both awake. 

End.


	8. confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 3x13 and 3x14.

Now that she knows, Thea feels really stupid for not figuring it out sooner. Like, not-even-smart-enough-to-breathe stupid. But . . . but it seemed like Ollie was even better at keeping secrets and playing a part than she realized. 

But no more of that. If there’s one thing the Queen family--what’s left of it, at least--could use, it’s some truth-telling. Some actual conversation. So if she could just figure out how to start, things would be good. 

The crackle of the fire and the small little noises of the forest are the only sounds. She’s still not totally used to the noise: Thea Queen was never an outside kind of girl. But Oliver is used to it, she thinks. He seems totally at ease here in the forest. 

“So this is what you did for five years, huh?”

Oliver looks up, the firelight making him look even older than he is. Well, actually, it’s his life that makes him look older than he is. “For some of it, yeah. There was a crashed plane that I lived in for a while.” He pauses. “Thea . . . I wasn’t always on the island.”

She senses there’s a story there, so she just nods, not asking any questions about that for the time being. She’s got other fish to fry. “So . . . two and a half years ago. You come home. And you just . . . what, get yourself a secret cave to fight crime from and get Laurel to start helping you and Roy and Diggle and--what was her name? Your EA?” 

“Felicity,” Oliver says, his whole body going tense. 

Bingo. She knew there was weirdness between the two of them the other day. Thea’s never seen a woman go toe-to-toe with Ollie like that. Oh, Laurel tried to get him to shape up before, but everyone knew it was wasted effort. Ollie wasn’t going to change for Laurel. But Thea has the feeling that Oliver would change for Felicity. 

“What’s going on with you two?” she asks, trying to sound curious but judgement-free. 

His fingers are rubbing against his thumb and his shoulders hunch a little. Thea frowns. “Don’t tell me you slept with her and now things are awkward.” 

“Thankfully, I haven’t followed that play from the Ollie handbook,” he says, self-loathing coming through loud and clear. “No . . . Felicity and I, we’re--it’s complicated, Speedy.” 

“No.” 

The word’s soft, and she tries to be as gentle as she can while also sounding firm. Ollie meets her eyes, his forehead wrinkled. 

“You don’t get to push me away like that. Not anymore,” she says. “If we’re gonna deal with Ra’s al Ghul, and Malcolm, and protect Starling City, we can’t do it if we’re holding each other at arm’s length like before.” She tries to smile a little. “Remember what Dad always used to say about insanity.”

Oliver looks down at his hands, his lips turned up in a tight smile. “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting something different.” 

Thea nods. “Yeah. I mean . . . you can ask me stuff, too, you know. No reason for it to be uncomfortable for just you.” 

“You sure about that, Speedy?” he says, looking back up at her with that annoying big brother glint in his eyes. The look she hadn’t seen on his face in a long time--the look she had really missed, even though there’s no way in hell she would ever, ever admit that.

Instead, she just shrugs and smiles. “So, Felicity?” 

“Felicity,” Oliver says--and that tips her off that this is really big. Because it’s the second time he’s said her name like that, a softening to his voice and an emphasis on each syllable. Like it’s his favorite word. 

Oh, wow. Ollie loves her. And she . . . is not happy with him, if what she said in the Arrow Cave was anything to go by. “How long have you been in love with her?” 

Ollie chuckles. “I don’t know. I just kinda . . . knew. In the middle of fighting Slade, she was talking to me--saying she believed in me--and I knew. I love her.” 

“And . . . she knows?” Thea asks, taking this slow. And resisting the urge to roll her eyes, because of course Ollie would fall in love with someone without realizing it. He was such a guy sometimes, even now with being Mr. Vigilante.

He nods. “Yeah, she knows. But . . .” He stops, and rolls his shoulders, and meets her eyes. “Joining forces with Malcolm, it--it was the last straw for Felicity. She doesn’t agree with me.” 

“I got that impression,” Thea says, feeling her heart break a little for him. Because if there’s anyone who deserves to be loved, it’s Ollie. Yet he’s never really seemed to figure it out, even though he’s got plenty of love to give. 

“Yeah, I think it’s obvious to everyone now,” Oliver says lightly, like he’s trying to put a brave face on. “I . . . I guess she doesn’t care, so I’ll just have to--”

“Ollie,” Thea groans, wanting to facepalm. “Seriously?”

He gets that hurt/offended look that all guys have, the one that Ollie perfected. “What?” 

“You really don’t see it?”

When he shakes his head, Thea sighs, knowing she’s gonna have to spell it out for him. “Felicity cares. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be so mad at you.” 

It takes a moment, but when the penny drops, it’s like Ollie’s whole face gets soft. Soft and gooey like a melty marshmallow. “Oh.” 

“This is why the two of you aren’t married with babies already--you don’t have me to help,” Thea jokes, then groans when Ollie’s face gets even more sappy. “I was kidding.” 

Ollie looks at her and smiles a little. “So I’ve thought about it.” 

Well, that’s a bombshell. Oliver Queen wants to get married and have babies with Felicity Smoak. Thea might not know Felicity all that well, but from what little she’s seen--of Felicity herself, and now with how Ollie is reacting--she can’t deny that she’s kinda in favor of it. Although she knows it’s gonna be a while until any of it can happen. Being here on Lian Yu, it’s put them in a strange limbo--it’s like a break from all the crap going on in Starling. Once they get back, they’ll be right in the middle of the fight again. 

But she’ll be damned if she’s not gonna do her best to get that look on her brother’s face again. 

“Awwwwwwwww,” she coos. “Would you take her name?”

“What about you and Roy?” Ollie asks smoothly. When she gapes at him, her mouth hanging open, he smirks. “I warned you, Speedy.” 

Okay, he’s going down. She grabs a big bunch of leaves and throws them at him, and he laughs--God, when was the last time she heard Ollie laugh?--and throws some leaves back at her. And for just a moment, it’s like the old days but so much better, because as much as she’s always loved her brother, there were times when it was hard to like him. But Thea thinks that she really likes her brother now. 

She knows the road ahead is gonna be tough. She’s still not sure about Malcolm. She’s scared shitless for her brother. She wants to figure out who she can depend upon--and she wants to prove that she can protect herself. She’s feeling tingles around Roy that she’s never felt before. 

But for now, a leaf fight with her brother is enough.

End.


	9. operation burst the bubble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for MachaSWicket, based off her prompt: "Oliver & Felicity think they are being subtle about their new relationship, so Diggle and Roy conspire to interrupt them at every turn. As payback. ;)"

Roy looked at Diggle as Oliver oh-so-casually-but-really-not-at-all made up an excuse to follow Felicity out of the Foundry, less than five minutes after she left to go home. “So … they’re together now, right?”

“Oh, they’re together,” Digg agreed. “But they’re in that stage where they don’t want to tell anyone.”

“Why the hell not? Do they think any of us are gonna be upset?” Roy asked, lifting himself up onto one of the metal tables. “I’ll take walking in on them over the way they were last summer. Or this winter.”

Digg shrugged. “Sometimes it’s nice to feel like you’ve got a secret. Stay in the bubble.”

“I wanted to shout it from the rooftops with Thea. Both times.”

“Yeah, well, you know Oliver.” 

Roy nodded. “Yeah–wait.”

He looked at Digg, and Digg caught on quick, a grin slowly growing on his face. “What do you have in mind?”

XXX

Operation Burst the Bubble began simply enough. Every time it seemed like Oliver and Felicity were trying to get some private time together, Roy or Digg, with the help of Laurel and Thea, would break it up. It was surprisingly easy, because Oliver and Felicity are bad at stealth. Like, _ridiculously_ bad. 

Roy’s not surprised that Felicity sucked at sneaking around–but Oliver had totally lost his chill. It’s some horrible combo of last summer, with the smiling and the gazing, with these heated moments when he looked like he was undressing Felicity with his eyes, all while licking his lips.

Soon, all of Team Arrow knew the signs to look for, so they considered just preventing the follower from going after the followee in the first place. But that’s not as much fun as the excuses Oliver and Felicity come up with for what they’re doing when they’re interrupted.

“I–I had this cramp! In my shoulder! Oliver was helping me get rid of it. Because he knows all about muscle cramps, because, you know, he has the muscles.”

“Felicity … Felicity twisted her ankle. I was helping her to her car.”

“Oliver thought he saw this … thing! Yes, he saw something, something that could be related to the League, and he was worried they were back in Starling.”

“I thought I saw a member of the Triad following us and I wanted to throw them off.” 

That last one was Roy’s personal favorite. Because a) how the fuck did Oliver just happen to know who was and wasn’t Triad and b) did he really think sucking Felicity’s face off would stop the Triad guy from following them?

But after two weeks of this, Roy’s done with the subtle approach. “We gotta step it up, Digg. Give them more time before we interrupt them.” He paused. “Or just get them really drunk until they start making out. You know Felicity won’t be able to hold back then.” 

“No on the last one. It doesn’t feel right,” Digg said, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Roy conceded. “But you do agree we gotta finish this, right?

Digg nodded. “Yeah. So here’s what we’ll do: tonight, we’ll all leave first. I’m pretty damn sure they haven’t gotten up to anything down here, and it’s just a matter of time.” 

Roy wrinkled his nose. “Gross. We all have to use those mats.”

“Don’t worry, I think the mats will stay clean,” Laurel said, kicking her feet up as she leaned back in her chair. “Not with all these pillars around.” She waved her hand around, and Roy frowned as he remembered that Laurel and Oliver used to be a thing, and wasn’t that weird for him? And for her? But then, who the hell knew with Oliver?

And how weird was it that he was trying to picture Oliver and Laurel and just couldn’t?

Shaking his head, Roy looked back at Digg. “So what, we all leave first, and then one of us comes back?”

“Not one of us–you.”

“What? Fuck, no,” Roy said immediately. “He’s my girlfriend’s brother, and Felicity is like a sister to me.”

“You were the one who started all this,” Digg said.

Laurel held her hand up as Roy turned to her. “No way. Too awkward.”

“You did say you’d rather walk in on them then live through last summer or last winter again,” Digg reminded Roy, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Fine,” Roy groaned. “This is gonna be like walking in on my parents.”

XXX

The plan started without a hitch. Digg, Laurel and Roy all made their excuses– _much_ more convincing ones than any Oliver or Felicity have used lately–and left the two lovebirds alone. 

After a half-hour of talking to Thea, and telling her flat-out that no, he would not take a picture first, because “Jesus, Thea, it’s your brother!”–”Yeah, but just imagine the blackmail potential!”, Roy headed back to the door of the Foundry.

He punched in his code and softly pulled the door open. It was tempting to just walk in and act like he had just forgotten something, but he wanted to make sure he was really interrupting. And then it would take them some time to … untangle themselves. 

God, this was weird. Why had he done this again?

_‘Cause you know they’re crazy in love with each other and you like that they’re happy, finally, and there’s no reason to hide that. Not in this kinda life._

Right.

Moving silently, like Oliver had taught him, Roy eased his way into the Foundry, looking around. No sign of them from his vantage point, but he was pretty sure they were still here. There were soft little rustling noises, a quiet hum that made him think of people talking.

With each careful foot on the stairs, Roy tried to see more. He wasn’t even halfway down when he ruled out the area–and the pillars–that was the heart of the Foundry: the metal tables, the big-ass touchscreen, and Felicity’s desk. So they must be further back, towards the area they had been using while looking for Sara’s killer. 

Pushing aside the pang at the thought of the first Canary, Roy kept moving. He reached the bottom of the stairs and edged along the side, trying to get an angle–oh, bingo.

And yuck.

They weren’t using a pillar. They were using the back wall of the lair, in the shadows at the far edge of the training area. Oliver had Felicity lifted up, her legs were around his waist, and now Roy saw why it’s so quiet: Oliver’s got his hand over Felicity’s mouth.

Kinky.

Oliver’s shoulders were shaking as he went to town, grinding against Felicity. “Fuck–Felicity–” he muttered, his voice sounding funny. Like he’s laughing a little? “Need you.” 

The sound of his zipper going down was really loud and Roy had heard and seen enough. Time to put on the act.

“ _ **OH MY GOD**_ my eyes! What the hell?” Roy shouted, throwing a hand over his eyes but peeking through his fingers. Which might be too much, but he thought it was a nice touch.

Thankfully, neither Oliver or Felicity seemed to get off on people watching them have sex, since they immediately stopped, looked at each other, and then there was a flurry of movement as they straightened themselves up and Oliver put Felicity down. 

Wait. It took Roy a minute to realize what’s going on.

Were they–were they holding back laughter?

Roy looked back and forth between them and frowned as they both started laughing. “What’s going on?” he asked, his confusion real this time.

After a few moments of laughing her head off and Oliver snickering, Felicity did a fist pump and then turned to Oliver. “Pay up!”

With a groan, Oliver looked at Roy. “Why couldn’t you be Digg?”

“Huh?” Roy asked, still confused but with a slowly-growing sense of dread. That feeling you got when you realized you had been played.

Felicity pushed her glasses up and took Oliver’s hand, grinning at Roy. “We knew what you guys were doing, so we bet on who was gonna be the one to ‘find out’ about us.” 

_Well, shit_. Roy groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “So you bet on me, and Oliver had Digg?”

“Yup,” Oliver said, a smirk on his face as he dropped an arm around Felicity’s shoulders. 

“What if it had been Laurel?” Roy asked.

“It wouldn’t be. Too awkward,” Oliver said. 

_Damn it_. “So it was all a set-up? All the lame excuses and everything?”

“Not … not at first,” Felicity said, looking at Oliver. “But when Laurel got involved, we figured it out.” 

He should have known that Laurel was a bad idea. Roy sighed and looked at them. “Y’know why we did all this, right? We don’t care–well, actually, Thea probably cares too much, but it’s cool, she’s your sister–but you guys didn’t have to keep it quiet.”

“We know,” Oliver said.

“We were just having too much fun keeping it a secret for a little while,” Felicity said. “But we wouldn’t have been able to for much longer.”

Roy’s eyes immediately dropped to Felicity’s stomach, and she let out a weird half-snort, half-yelp. “No, Roy.”

She held up her hand, showing off–wow. That was some rock. Guess Oliver wasn’t so broke anymore.

Oliver started walking, drawing Felicity along with him. “Call Digg and Laurel and we’ll grab Thea. We’re going to Big Belly to celebrate.”

Okay, so maybe he blew it all on the ring. But then, as he followed Oliver and Felicity out of the Foundry, it wasn’t that surprising. ‘Cause that was the kinda thing Oliver would do. Although Roy bet Felicity had squealed at the ring and then said how many computer doo-dads he could have bought her instead.

They deserved each other. And Roy was just glad they had finally figured it out.

End.


	10. private queen

The early morning sunlight streamed in through the windows, illuminating the simple, homey kitchen. There was some burnt-on food on the stovetop and the coffepot definitely needed to be descaled, but it was still Felicity’s favorite room in her apartment.

But mostly, it was because she was sitting on the countertop, in just her boyfriend’s t-shirt and her panties, while her boyfriend was just wearing low-slung jeans and standing in-between her legs. 

“Oliver,” Felicity panted, running her hands over his bare torso. “God, I’m gonna miss you.” 

“Hey, hey,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. His eyes were so blue and so bright, she had to look away after a second. They dropped to where her fingers were playing with his dog tags. 

Tomorrow he would be leaving. Going back to Afghanistan. Her amazingly brave, incredibly strong, total and complete idiot had signed up for another tour. He would be gone for twelve long months. A whole year, after she had only gotten him for six weeks. 

It would be his third tour. He had been so lucky so far: the worst injury he had received was the stab wound that bisected his side. But if there was one thing Felicity Smoak knew, it was that luck ran out. 

And she had the worst feeling that this time … he wouldn’t be coming home. Wouldn’t be coming back to her. It wasn’t like her to give in to strange, paranoid feelings like this, but … she just loved him so much. 

“Hey,” he repeated, gently drawing her face up so she could look at him. “I’m going to miss you, too. So much, Felicity.”

His calloused thumbs rubbed against her cheeks. “I haven’t forgotten my promise,” he said softly, his eyes locked on hers. “I will always come home to you.” 

She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. Because he said he wasn’t any good with words, but he was wrong. He _always_ knew the right thing to say. 

“I love you,” she whispered. “Oliver …” 

“I love you, too,” he said, brushing his thumb against her cheek. He gazed at her for a long moment, and then he pulled his hands away from her face, dropping them to her knees. “Felicity, there–there’s something I’ve been trying to ask you the whole time I’ve been back.” 

Felicity frowned. “You have?” Because she hadn’t really noticed him acting differently–oh, God, she was the worst girlfriend. The absolute worst, when he was the best boyfriend ever. 

His thumb brushed against her forehead and he smiled at her, that special _Felicity_ smile that was only for her. “Yeah, I have.” 

And then, to her complete and utter shock, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a box that looked like–

Her eyes must be the size of dinner plates, Felicity thought dimly as she watched Oliver open the box to reveal the most beautiful ring she had ever seen, one with the sparkliest diamond and the prettiest emerald. 

“Felicity Smoak, will you keep making me happy for the rest of my life by marrying me?” 

Oliver’s heart was in his eyes. She could hear the slight tremor in his voice and the idea that Oliver, so brave and tough on the outside but with a marshmallow center, was this nervous … it made her realize just how big this moment was. 

And the thing was, she knew what her answer was. Because she had known, from the night they met at that crappy bar near Fort Hood, that Oliver Queen was the man she was going to marry.

“Yes!” she said, throwing her arms around him tightly. “Yes, Oliver, yes!” 

He laughed and hugged her, then kissed her hungrily. Felicity used her legs to pull him in against her, peppering kisses over his face. Then she dropped her head to kiss his neck, sucking on his skin. 

“Ohhhh,” he groaned, tilting his head to give her more access. “What–Felicity …”

“Giving you something to remember me by,” she said, before redoubling her efforts to create the longest-lasting hickey possible.

XXX

Private Oliver Queen stood at attention, dead center in the middle of the inspection line. The sun beat down on his head and shoulders, sending sweat trickling down his back. His CO, Captain John Diggle, was stalking along the line, a few men from him. It would just be a matter of time before Digg would reach Oliver, and then there would be hell to pay.

But Oliver didn’t give a good god damn. Because he was engaged. Because Felicity Smoak, the most amazing, beautiful, smart, perfect woman on Earth was going to marry him. The rich boy screwup who had joined the Army on a whim and had survived two tours of duty. 

He was going to survive this next one, too. He was going to make it out, and go home to Felicity, and then he was going to marry her and never leave her again. 

This was his last tour. He had done enough for his country. After this tour, Felicity would be his country. His home. 

“PRIVATE QUEEN!”

If it was possible, Oliver came even more to attention. “SIR YES SIR!” he yelled in response.

“What the absolute **_fuck_** is that on your neck, Private?” 

The saying that his bark was worse than his bite was only partially true when it came to Captain John Diggle. Because his bite was plenty bad. But Oliver had served under John Diggle for almost three years, and he knew that the man respected him. So it was easy to hear the suppressed humor in Digg’s voice–especially since Diggle had met Felicity and thought she was ‘damn adorable’ in his own words.

“A HICKEY, SIR!” Oliver said. 

“Is that so, Private? And just why did you let this happen to yourself, when you had to report to duty today?”

“My girlfriend was excited, sir!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver could see the rest of the unit trying to hold back their laughter. Everyone knew just how crazy he was about Felicity. 

He could see that Digg was barely holding in his laughter. “And why the hell would she be that excited, Private?”

“Because I asked her to marry me, sir!”

That made half the unit break ranks, but Diggle held up a hand, halting everyone in their tracks. “Wait just a minute. That fine woman agreed to marry your sorry ass?”

“Sir, yes, for some strange reason!”

Diggle’s face was blank for a long moment, his eyes locked on Oliver’s. Then he grinned widely and slapped Oliver on the shoulder. “Fellows, put the beers on ice. We’ll be joining you to celebrate Private Queen’s engagement, just as soon as I finish talking to his fiancee about destruction of government property.”

That made laughter ripple through the ranks, before a round of applause broke out. 

Oliver grinned and nodded, waiting to speak until everyone had dispersed. “Destruction of government property? You’re gonna freak Felicity out.” 

“Good. Maybe she’ll think twice about putting hickeys on you in places that will show when you’re in uniform,” Digg said with a smirk. “C’mon, I wanna make sure the girl’s right in the head. I wouldn’t put it past you to pop the question when she was under the influence or something.” 

With a laugh, Oliver followed Digg towards his office, already excited by the idea of talking to Felicity. 

Only three hundred and forty-two days until he would see her again. But he would see her again. He’d see her in a white dress. He’d see her with a rounded belly. He’d see her with gray hair, surrounded by grandchildren and teaching them all about the newest technology. 

And through it all, he would be there with her. 

End.


	11. a real happy ending

“So. We’re driving off into the sunset together.” 

Oliver turned his head to glance at Felicity, squinting his eyes a little even with the sun blocked by his sunglasses. Even with her ponytail, strands of hair were whipping around her face, thanks to the way he’s opened up the Porsche on the straightaway. She was also wearing sunglasses and her hand was resting on his knee and he almost asked her to pinch him.

“Yeah. We’re driving off into the sunset together,” he said, letting his hand rest on top of hers for a moment before he shifts, letting their speed drop a little.

She beamed at him. “Considering where we were a year ago, I would not have believed we’d be like this.” 

Huffing out a laugh, Oliver thought back to a year ago. Right after they had defeated Slade, right after he had told her he loved her, right after he had realized he loved her. 

Up until yesterday, he hadn’t thought this would be where they would end up. But here they were, and there was nowhere else he wanted to be. No one else he wanted to be with. 

“Where do you think we’d be?” he asked, glancing over at her. 

Her smile softened, growing nostalgic. “I imagined this. But I thought, if I was lucky, I might know by now if you had meant what you said.” She gave her head a little shake and moved over in her seat a little, leaning towards him. “What about you?”

Oliver looked at the road ahead of them. Thought back over the last twelve months, the highs and lows, all the ways he had changed, the ways Felicity had changed. But even with that, here they were. Together. 

“I imagined this, too,” he said quietly, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly before returning his hand to the stick shift. 

Felicity’s indrawn breath was so deep, he could hear it, even with the wind rushing past them. “Okay, you need to pull over so I can kiss you.” 

“You sure about that, Felicity?” he asked, even as he started slowing and looking to see if the shoulder was wide enough. “Might not be just kissing.” He smirked at her a little.

“As long as the thing poking me isn’t the gearshift, I’m okay with that,” Felicity said, giving him a smirk of her own. One that made him immediately yank the car to the side of the road, barely getting the luxury sports car into park before he’s kissing her with everything he is. 

His name was Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak loved him. That was the real happy ending, more than driving into the sunset in a fast car or being free of Ra’s. 

They were the happy ending.

End.


	12. you taste like birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated explicit.
> 
> On May 16, 2015, Oliver Queen turned thirty. And to mark this very special occasion, the love of his life woke him up with the traditional birthday present: a blow job.
> 
> Title from Regina Spektor's The Party.

With a start, Oliver’s eyes flew open. It was the first time he had woken up suddenly since his catnap on the plane to Starling. But unlike that last time, it wasn’t the rocking of the plane that woke him up. No, it was the warm wetness that was surrounding his cock. 

“Felicity?” he groaned, clenching his hands into fists so he wouldn’t sink them into her hair and hold her in place as he plunged his already-hard dick into her mouth. And damn it, he shouldn’t be imagining that . . . 

She let his cock drop from her mouth and gave him an impish smile. “In the flesh.” 

He groaned again at the cool air washing over his damp, aching skin and looked at her, taking in the gray henley--one of his--that she was wearing. “What--?”

Felicity’s smile softened, into something more intimate and loving. Full of warmth and affection. “Happy birthday.” 

As she lowered her head, Oliver felt his forehead crease. Birthday? It was his birthday? 

And then her mouth was on him again and Oliver stopped thinking. 

One of her hands was wrapped around his base, occasionally stroking up and down his length. Her other hand gently squeezed and rolled his balls, but all his attention was on how it felt to have her lips around his cock. He had spent nearly two years fantasizing about this, and now--now it was happening, and yes, it had happened before, but it was his birthday, and this was even better than he had imagined. 

Oliver couldn’t look away at the sight of Felicity between his legs. Her hair, in messy waves, fell around her face, obscuring what she was doing. Hesitantly, he reached down and ran his fingers lightly along her jaw, feeling her face move as she sucked him, and he bit back a groan. 

Somehow, she tilted her head back enough to meet his eyes, a few locks of hair falling across her forehead. And something in her expression told him that she wanted to hear him. 

So he stroked her jaw again, once again feeling that play of muscles, and he let out a soft moan. 

Her eyes lit up and she sucked harder, her fist gently turning back and forth around his dick. It felt so good, he couldn’t help moaning again. 

Taking a deep breath, Oliver slid his hand into her hair, holding it out of her face. So he could watch her. Slowly, she drew her mouth down his length, giving a hard suck to the tip, her eyes meeting his. 

And God, she was the most beautiful, the sexiest, the hottest woman he had ever seen. And he just had to tell her. 

“Felicity--Felicity, you’re so beautiful,” he choked out, his voice raspy. 

She froze for a split-second, her eyes going wide, and then something came over her. Because Felicity lowered her head and sucked harder, her head bobbing up and down his length. Her hand kept swirling around his base, and she moved her other hand to start stroking his inner thigh with light caresses. 

That felt good, he thought, his mind whirling and his eyes unable to look away from her. And then, when she had taken him deep, she _hummed_. 

“Oh, fuck!” he cried out, his head falling back as the vibrations traveled up and down his cock. He started to jerk his hips, to thrust into her mouth, only to stop himself just in time. 

A light slap against his stomach made him slowly lift his head off the pillow to meet her gaze. Felicity shot him a look as she kept humming around him. There was a challenging glint in her eyes, an expression that said “Do what you want, Oliver.” 

Maybe it was because it was his birthday. Maybe it was because she loved him. Maybe it was because she wanted him to lose control--wanted to be the one to make him lose control. 

He couldn’t figure it out. Not when his body was trembling with holding back, not when he knew just what he wanted to do. 

Slowly, he arched his hips a little, feeling himself slide deeper into her mouth. Felicity’s humming changed, into what he was pretty sure was a moan, and _damn_ that was hot. His dick was so hard, harder than it ever had been, and Felicity’s mouth was so perfect, and-- 

And with that, he gave up on holding back. 

His hand gripped the back of her head, his fingers twined in her blonde waves. This time, he rocked up all the way and his cock went so far back, he thought that he might be touching the back of her throat. 

Gasping, Oliver did it again, overwhelmed at how amazed he felt . Amazed and surprised and so fucking in love with Felicity Meghan Smoak that it took exactly two and a half thrusts into her mouth before he was coming, coming so hard, his cock twitching as he spent himself, a stream of profanities and “I love yous” falling from his lips.

Every bit of tension gone from his body, Oliver felt himself sink down against the mattress, feeling boneless and relaxed. So relaxed, so free. 

So loved. 

Oliver didn’t know how much time passed before his eyes opened again. This time, Felicity was curled up against his side, her hand slowly tracing the line of his muscles. He watched her fingers trail over his pecs, down his side to his hip, then sliding up towards his navel and then oh-so-carefully stroking each and every ridge of his abs. 

“You keep doin’ that, I’ll be ready to go again before you know it,” he said, his voice rough. 

Felicity let out a soft giggle and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “You think so?” 

Wiggling a little, he got his arm out from underneath Felicity and wrapped it around her. “Know so. You’re remarkable.” 

“And thank you again for remarking on it,” she said, a very satisfied tone to her voice. 

With a laugh, Oliver pulled her in towards him to kiss her softly, his lips moving slowly against hers. As the kiss drew to an end, he felt Felicity smile against his mouth. “Happy birthday.”

So it was May 16. Yesterday had been the anniversary of Tommy’s death. Two years, now. And it hurt. It would always hurt. But . . . the pain had become different. Because Tommy wouldn’t ever get to meet Felicity, and tell her all the embarrassing things that Ollie used to do. Because Tommy wasn’t here, to joke about fighting Digg to be Oliver’s best man. 

A year ago, he had lost his mother. Watched her sacrifice herself for him and Thea, with the courage and strength that surpassed his own. He regretted the time he had spent being angry with his mother, regretted that there had been no chances to mend the rift between them. Maybe if she had been around this last year, she might have been able to help him pull his head out of his ass. If only by how she reacted to the news that he had fallen in love with Felicity. 

Oliver gazed at Felicity. This was the first good birthday he had seen in years. And all it took to be the best birthday of his adult life was a woman with dyed blonde hair and glasses, a woman who babbled and hacked and shone like the sun. A woman who had never stopped believing in him, even when he had broken her trust and come close to breaking her heart. 

All it took for his birthday to be special was Felicity. 

“Thank you,” he said softly, tightening his arm around her. 

“Did you like your present?” she asked, smiling at him, that same impish smile she had given him when he first woke up. 

He knew she meant the blow job. He knew she was teasing. But even as he smiled at her, he wanted to make this moment matter.

“You’re my present. So, yes, I do like it,” he said, cupping her face in one hand. 

Her eyelids fluttered as her cheeks went pink. “Oliver,” she said, drawing out the syllables of his name into something delightful, full of amusement and the barest hint of annoyance. “It’s pretty hard to find a birthday gift for your boyfriend when you’re barely out of each other’s sight--” 

Cutting her off, Oliver kissed her deeply, easing her down on the mattress and half-covering his body with her own. “I don’t need anything but you,” he said quietly, gazing into her eyes. “And I definitely need you, Felicity. Right now.” 

She opened her mouth, but Oliver kissed her again, because he didn’t need her in a metaphorical sense. 

No, he needed her literally. And since it was his birthday, he was going to spend today reaching out for everything he desired and take whatever he could wrap his hands around. 

And at the moment, his heart’s desire was Felicity’s ass, as he kissed his way to her center. 

Being thirty was awesome. He was really going to like it. 

End.


	13. baby matchmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _you crouched down to coo at my baby but i forgot to tell you their favorite thing to do is to play with people’s hair and now they won’t let go of you_

Oliver would have never thought that becoming a father would change his life. Well, no, he would have thought that, but what he wasn’t prepared for was how it changed his life for the better.

But having Mia changed him from a spoiled brat into … well, into a grown-up. And he liked who he was now. 

Mia turned her head back and forth, looking around from her seat as he pushed their cart through the grocery store. Her mouth was stretched in a smile, revealing her tiny white baby teeth, and her hands flapped up and down with excitement whenever she spotted something of interest.

“Dadadadada!” she said, her voice raising in volume with each ‘da’. She wiggled as he lifted up a box of Cheerios. 

“I know, it’s your favorite!” Oliver said, smiling at her. 

“Rios!” Mia agreed, banging her hands against the cart’s handle.

Oliver grinned and tossed the cereal box in the cart, looking down at his shopping list, when Mia let out a shriek.

“Oh, hello!” 

Turning, Oliver felt his breath catch a little. Because the woman who had just responded to his daughter’s loud cry was captivating. 

She was wearing a pink dress and high heels that made her legs look like they were miles long. Her eyes behind her glasses were big and blue and bright. But it was her hair that had clearly captured his daughter’s attention … and his, too.

Because her hair was like sunshine. 

The woman held her hand, with bright blue fingernails, out to Mia. “It’s so nice to meet you! My name is Felicity. What’s yours?” She hesitated, then looked up at Oliver. Her eyes widened and her free hand fluttered up to push her glasses up. “That is, if you don’t mind me asking. But then, I’m a stranger and with such an adorable baby, you probably get accosted by people all the time and you must be worried about keeping her safe.”

It was true, he did worry about keeping Mia safe. Because she was a Queen, and his daughter, and the most precious, important person in his life. But looking at this woman–at Felicity–he felt the desire to share every little detail about his daughter. If only to be able to talk to her. 

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling at her. “Her name is Mia.” 

“Mia,” she repeated. “It’s a great name for such a pretty and smart girl.” 

Felicity turned back to Mia and smiled. She lifted up one of Mia’s hands and wrapped it around Felicity’s own. “See, we’re shaking hands now!” 

His daughter stared up at Felicity like she hung the moon, then her face lit up in a smile and she let out a squeal. 

And Felicity laughed and looked up at Oliver, staying in her slight crouch. “Oh, I bet she’s a handful.” 

Laughing, Oliver leaned a little on the handle of the cart, wanting to be closer to her. “Sometimes, yeah. But she makes my life so much better.” 

Felicity’s face went soft and then she smiled. A sweet, happy smile, one that made his heart beat a little bit harder. But then her smile became a grimace and she winced. 

Because his adorable handful of a daughter had wrapped her fist around some of Felicity’s golden tresses, and now she was tugging on her hair. 

“Mia!” Oliver said firmly, reaching out and trying to extract Mia’s fist from Felicity’s hair. “I’m sorry, I thought she had grown out of this whole ‘grab the hair of anyone within reach’ phase. Just one minute …”

“Not–not going anywhere,” Felicity said, still wincing a little. But she shot him a small smile and stayed still as he finally got Mia to let go. 

(He should not feel jealous of his baby for getting to touch Felicity’s hair, right?)

With a small sigh of relief, Felicity straightened up and ran a hand over her hair. She adjusted her glasses and gave him a rueful, amused smile.

“I am so sorry,” he said, gazing at her. Feeling the oddest stirring inside himself. “I’m Oliver, by the way,” he said, holding his hand out to her. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Oliver,” she said, her hand sliding into his. And while her hand was big enough to wrap around Mia’s tiny fist, her hand was dwarfed by his own. But more than that … her hand felt good in his.

Slowly, he let go of her hand after holding it for a beat too long, then gave her a small smile. “Bet you didn’t think you’d get accosted in the grocery store, huh?” 

Felicity laughed and shook her head. “Not by a baby, at least. This would not be the first time I got accosted. Have you ever noticed how if you say the same word over and over, it starts to not make any sense? Accosted accosted accosted accosted–” She stopped suddenly, pressing her very pink lips together, and Oliver can’t help taking a moment to watch her mouth before his gaze returned to her eyes. 

“And now I should apologize, for unleashing so much babble on you,” she said, her face flushing. “I swear, I’m normally perfectly fit for normal human interaction.” 

“No, you’re–you’re fine,” he said, trying not to hear Tommy in his head putting the leering inflection on the words. Yet her words have given him the perfect opening, and she probably doesn’t even realize it, but Oliver’s not going to let this chance pass him by. Not when he hasn’t looked at another woman since things with Sara went south and she left him with a newborn. 

“But–but if you’d like to get some practice, maybe you could get some coffee with me and Mia once we’re done with our shopping?” Oliver asked, gazing down at her. 

Her eyes went incredibly wide and her mouth fell open a little, and now Felicity has gone from cute to hot. And he wanted to see other sides of her. 

“Really?” she asked, sounding breathless.

“Really,” Oliver said, taking a small step towards her. He smiled at her, feeling like his heart was in his throat. 

When Felicity doesn’t say anything, he felt his smile starting to fade. And then Felicity startled and nodded quickly. “Yes! Yes, I’d love to,” she said, looking thrilled and excited and nervous, mirroring his own reaction. 

Mia let out a soft little giggle, and they both look at her. His daughter is grinning widely, a pleased, mischievous smirk that reminded him of Thea.

(Three years later, when he married Felicity, that same smirk is on the face of his daughter and his sister. Which made sense, since they will spend the rest of their lives arguing over who did more to bring Oliver and Felicity together: Mia for making the introductions in the first place or Thea for babysitting Mia for all their dates.)

End.


	14. until your dying day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little ficlet as I process last night’s episode. Spoilers for 3x21.

The low-ceilinged chamber was lit only by torchlight, the flames flickering as the League of Assassins gathered to watch as the new Warith al Ghul took a bride. The fact that the bride was the former heir mattered little to the gathered ranks. 

But it mattered quite a bit to Oliver Queen, Al Sah-Him, Heir to the Demon. 

Because the last woman he wanted to marry was Nyssa. Not simply because it was offensive to both of them to be forced into marriage. Not because Nyssa was still mourning the loss of Sara and the last thing she wanted was to be married to any man, let alone him. 

Yet once again, Ra’s had been one step ahead. Instead of killing his daughter, Oliver was marrying her. 

When there was only one woman on earth he really wanted to marry. 

Standing in his place at the front of the chamber, Ra’s by his side and the League’s priestess preparing for the ceremony, Oliver made himself breathe slowly. The air was heavy with incense, blurring his senses slightly. Making him feel numb and cold. Forcing acceptance of his fate. 

Suddenly, the doors of the chamber opened and a veiled figure appeared in the doorway. The League members kneeled in flawless unison as the figure slowly stepped into the chamber. 

Oliver frowned slightly. For just a moment, it was like Nyssa had flickered. Flickered and appeared to be … someone else. But then it passed and it was Nyssa, walking towards him, her face blank. 

The priestess began speaking, her voice rich, filling the chamber as she began the ceremony. Her words were in Arabic and Oliver looked to Nyssa to cue him for whatever he needed to do. 

There was a small wrinkle between her eyebrows, an intense concentration. So like–

He cut off that thought, trying to push her from his mind. It was perverse to think of Felicity at a time like this.

The ceremony continued, and then the priestess produced a knife, along with two lengths of silken rope. She handed the knife to Nyssa, who took it slowly. 

“You will share blood, blood that will create a bond between you until your dying day,” the priestess said in accented English.

Nyssa nodded, taking a small breath as she took one of Oliver’s hands, her fingernails painted a dull red. 

Wait. No. Her nails were smooth and pale and unpainted. 

What–what was going on? 

Oliver watched in confusion as Nyssa sliced open the palm of his left hand, her technique slower and clumsier than he would have expected, applying too much pressure and causing him pain.

And for a split second, Nyssa’s eyes were blue. 

No. No–what was happening to him? Why was he seeing Felicity? Why did he think that it was Felicity, wearing that special set of League robes, wearing that veil? 

Was he finally going crazy? 

In a daze, Oliver didn’t realize it was his turn until Ra’s spoke softly. “Do your part, boy.” 

Nodding quickly, Oliver took the knife and slashed open Nyssa’s left palm, then followed the priestess’s direction to open her right palm, as well. Both times, there was just the barest hint of a wince on her part. 

Nyssa drew blood from his right palm, and then the priestess spoke over them, switching back to Arabic. 

And he kept seeing Felicity appear and then disappear as Nyssa took her place. Until finally, there was only Felicity. 

His eyes must have gone wide, he must have made some indication of what he was seeing. Because Felicity’s eyes begged him, silently, to wait. It was as if they had a whole conversation with just their eyes, like they had so many times before.

He didn’t know what was going on. Actually, he was pretty certain he had finally lost his grip on sanity. But Felicity was asking him to trust her. 

So he did. And when the priestess pressed their hands together, binding each set of hands so their blood mixed between their palms, and he realized it was Felicity’s small hands and not Nyssa’s calloused ones against his own …

Oliver realized that he was being rescued. 

Although he also got that idea when, as soon as the priestess concluded the ceremony, all hell broke loose. 

XXX

They were surrounded by chaos and carnage. Somehow, they had done it. They had defeated Ra’s al Ghul, defeated the League of Assassins. 

Oliver looked around and his eyes immediately spotted Felicity. She was hesitantly stepping forward, the ceremonial robes torn to reveal the jeans and tank top she wore underneath them. A … a sparkly white tank top. 

There were so many questions in his head. But they could wait. 

Striding towards her, Oliver met Felicity in the middle of the battlefield and kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with everything he had, with everything he was. And she was clutching at him, kissing him back, pulling him closer to her like she wanted them to become one. 

He wanted the same thing, too. 

Only the need for air made him break away. “Felicity, I don’t believe it,” he said, cupping her face in his hands carefully, trying to keep the gashes in his palms away from her skin but needing to touch her. 

His brilliant, remarkable, beautiful Felicity smiled up at him tearfully. “We used the herbs, the ones Maseo told us about. They were with the incense. The ones that make you see someone else. So that Ra’s and the League members would think I was Nyssa.” 

The herbs. The ones Ra’s had told him about, when he had seemingly killed John. Oliver swallowed, feeling his body tremble. 

“Shhh,” Felicity said softly, her fingers stroking over his forehead and cheeks and neck. “I know.” 

“But you weren’t affected?” Oliver asked, feeling like his mind was extra-sluggish. Too shocked by the idea that they had actually survived. That they might have won this war. 

Felicity gave him a small little smile. “We took a chance that your island herbs were more magical than League herbs.” 

He stared at her. “Your blood. Mixing with mine.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Which, by the way, was really gross and not sanitary.” Felicity stopped and shook her head before continuing. “I drank a lot of tea, and we even managed to soak the knife blade in herb-infused water, just in case.” 

“That is …” Oliver said, letting his voice trail off as the brilliance and danger of the plan became clear. 

“I know,” Felicity said, stepping closer to him, gazing up at him. 

Tightening his arms around her, he gazed into her eyes. “You–you could have been killed.” 

“I couldn’t let that archaic, demeaning ceremony happen–for you or for Nyssa,” Felicity said, her voice firm. “And–and it was a good way to set up taking out Ra’s, John said, and we had Tatsu’s help, and with Maseo joining us, and even with Malcolm trying to double-cross us–we did it.” She stopped talking, her eyes going wide as if she was finally realizing what they had done. “We saved you.” 

Oliver shook his head. “You saved me,” he said in a low voice, lifting her up, needing her closer. “You saved me, Felicity.” 

The rays of the rising sun fell over them as he kissed Felicity again. As he held the love of his life, the woman he wanted to marry, in his arms with the knowledge that for right now, things were good.

And she kissed him back, and whispered “I love you,” against his lips, before shifting a little. “I really need to get these robes off,” she said. 

Setting her down with a smile, Oliver gave her a hand. “What’s up with the tank top?” he asked, gesturing to the white iridescent top. 

Felicity looked at him and grinned. “Blame your sister. She thought it was funny, and a fitting message to Ra’s, if I was wearing white.” 

As he watched Felicity kick off the last of the robes and then loosen her hair, clearly set on fixing her messy ponytail, Oliver felt like his brain was moving at a million miles an hour as his heart tried to pound its way out of his chest. 

“Felicity? Do you want to make it real?” 

That crinkle appeared between her eyebrows again. “Oliver? What do you mean?”

His words came fast, tumbling out of his mouth in a way they never had before. “The ceremony finished. If the League still existed, we’d be bound together. Married, for lack of a better word. And that’s all I want, Felicity. I know we haven’t done anything the traditional way, but–will you marry me? Right now?” 

He knew this was his adrenaline and emotions talking. He knew that Felicity would be logical and tell him that they didn’t need to get married now, not like this. That they’d both regret it, that it would be too big a challenge to their relationship, now that they were really together (they were together, right?) and that they shouldn’t rush something so important. 

Her eyes searched his face, long enough for Oliver to brace himself for her response. For her to tell him ‘not now.’

“Yes.” 

“What?” Oliver said, freezing in shock. 

Felicity grabbed onto his forearms. “Yes, Oliver. I want to marry you, too. Now.” 

His lips parted a little as the sheer enormity of the moment swept over him. And then he was smiling, smiling like he never had before, and Felicity was smiling back at him, her eyes bright and alive and he was alive, too, and they were going to get married. 

And all he could do with everything he was feeling was kiss her. So he did. 

End.


	15. hurry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the MTV Reblogathon.

“Hurry, Oliver,” Felicity said, panting from the passenger seat.

“I am hurrying!” he said, his hands clenching the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles were white.

Felicity shot him a look that was equal parts annoyed and loving. “I could walk faster. My dead grandmother could drive faster.” 

Oliver huffed out a breath. “It doesn’t matter how fast we get there if we get there dead.” 

“That’s morbid,” Felicity said grumpily. 

Glancing over at her, Oliver tried to see things from Felicity’s point of view. After all, she was the one in labor.

“I suppose I can go a bit faster,” he admitted, giving the car some more gas. 

“Thank you,” she sighed in relief. “I don’t wanna have our baby in this car. I already lost one car to bodily fluids, I don’t want to lose another.” 

“But for a much better reason than last time,” Oliver pointed out, doing his best to ignore his brain in order to lift one hand from the wheel to take Felicity’s hand. 

She lifted his knuckles to her lips and kissed them. “I don’t know. I think that was the moment I really met you, when you were bleeding in my back seat and I finally got to know your big secret.” 

Her words were like a blanket around his heart, making him feel warm and loved and so happy that all the anxiety and worry faded into the background.

“I love you, Felicity Queen.”

“I love you, Oliver Queen. Now let’s go become parents.”


	16. practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the MTV Reblogathon.

It’s quiet in the new Arrow lair. Not that they call it the lair. Or describe it as belonging to the Arrow, either. Since the Arrow is no more and it’s up to Digg, Laurel and Thea to keep Starling safe.

Although Felicity knows that Oliver is starting to feel … not guilty, she thinks. But he certainly seems to want to be part of the team. Based on how he’s doing target practice, firing arrows into tennis balls. 

She looks at him over the computers she’s working on, giving them a going-over as her part in helping the team. Because whatever Oliver is feeling, Felicity is feeling it, too. That itch to be part of something. The desire to help the city. The almost-yearning to feel the blood pumping in their veins–from an activity that’s less private than what they’ve been doing the last six months. 

Although … watching Oliver shoot arrows, his quiver strapped over his t-shirt, is enough to get any girl’s heart going. 

For a moment, she weighs her choices: ask Oliver if he wants to start up their night work again, or engage him in a round of making-out. 

And even though she’s had Oliver so many different ways, she’s a little embarrassed by how quickly she settles on the second option.

But … Oliver! In jeans, shooting arrows at non-people! 

Her mind made up, Felicity finishes her work and stands up. “Looking good,” she says, moving around the computer desk and walking towards him, putting a little extra sway in her hips. Maybe accidentally.

Oliver looks at her and gives her a cocky smile. “I’m good at this,” he said, showing her his bow.

“Mmm, yes,” she said, coming closer and closer to him. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his brow and a muskiness wafting from his t-shirt. Combined with the rest of the Oliver package, it’s enough to make her knees tremble. 

When her hands come up to stroke along the strap of his quiver, he lifts an eyebrow at her. “Like what you see?” he asks, his tone making clear that he knows her answer. 

“A little,” she says, biting her lip to hold back her giggle when Oliver pouts.

“Only a little?” he replies, wrapping his free arm around her waist and pulling her in against him, her arms sandwiched between them. 

“Well, yes. Now, if you were doing all that target practice shirtless, _that_ would be something to see,” she says, lifting her chin and giving him an innocent smile.

She watches his eyes go dark. “I have an even better idea,” he says, his voice low and husky and ooooh, he knew what that did to her. “How about I show you the other ways I have really good aim?” 

Licking her lips, Felicity tries to keep the banter going, but her voice is a bit thready when she speaks. “What does that involve?”

“Both of us being a lot more naked,” he says, lowering his head and kissing her hungrily.


	17. queen--oliver queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the MTV Reblogathon. [Inspired by this Tumblr post](http://dettiot.tumblr.com/post/122941946640/punchdrunkdoc-while-rewatching-1x22-i-noticed).

As Oliver Queen, Agent 007 of Her Majesty’s Secret Service, was blown clear of the Paris Metro subway car, he wondered if perhaps he made a mistake in believing Felicity Smoak’s story.

_Eighteen Hours Earlier …_

The Louvre was not Oliver’s preferred location for a contact meeting. True, it was large and crowded with tourists, but that just made it all the more of a typical cliched rendezvous point. Especially given that he had no information about this contact–only that he possessed critical intelligence about a plot that reached into the very highest levels of the French government. And since French support was critical to Britain’s involvement in a small skirmish between Algeria and Egypt, he had been sent to collect the intelligence as his service to the government. 

His shined shoes made barely a sound against the marble floors of the ground Denon wing, and he occasionally paused to observe a work of art from Asia, the Americas or Africa. The contact choosing these galleries was too on-the-nose for Oliver’s taste, but only years of training let him hold back his sigh. A set of glass doors threw back his colorless reflection, showing a well-built man in a precisely-tailored suit. But the scruff covering his jaw and a certain ruthlessness in his blue eyes undermined the air of casual elegance. Which was just the impression Oliver wanted to give.

Pausing in the doorway of the next gallery, he saw that it was empty, except for the priceless collection of African art and one small blonde woman. He walked through, ambling at the slow pace of the tourist, glancing at the information cards beside each work as he measured the young woman. 

Her arms were wrapped around herself, pressing her bright red coat against her body and showcasing what must be a fairly slender figure. Her legs were bare, her coat covering whatever she was wearing, except for a sliver of hem in a bright shade of purple. With her very high heeled sandals, she looked like a professional woman, one with a career and a future ahead of her. There was something about her face that he thought spoke to intelligence and determination, in the casual looks he allowed himself. 

Yet he found himself wishing he could move closer to her. See what color her eyes were behind her glasses. Examine her face in-depth by sweeping back the fall of long blonde hair that fell over her cheek. 

With a shake of his head, Oliver turned and moved back towards the doorway. He had always had an eye for beautiful woman, yet he had never allowed one to jeopardize a mission. He needed to find his contact and get out of Paris as quickly as possible, before–

“Excuse me?”

A soft, feminine voice made him pause and look over his shoulder. The blonde woman was looking at him, and now that she had his attention, she moved towards him, her heels clicking loudly against the floor. “Excuse me, but–are you Monsieur Bleu?”

Her accent was American, but she spoke French well enough. Like a woman who had been put through intensive language lessons before taking an important position with an overseas company. But the fact that she used his code name told him that this extremely unlikely woman was his contact. 

How in the hell did a woman like this acquire secrets that could get her killed?

XXX

Her name was Felicity Smoak. 

Oliver leaned back in his chair of the pretty little cafe near the Louvre, observing the woman opposite him. This close, with the ability to look at her without needing to be covert, he could take in the smaller details that make up her face. 

Her lips were painted a deep, vivid pink. By contrast, her fingernails were a pale blue, on display every time she inched her glasses up her pert nose. Her skin was pale, making her lips and her eyes--a pale blue-grey--stand out. The blonde hair he noticed from the start fell about her face in gentle waves.

All in all, his initial impression of a lovely young woman had been upgraded. Felicity Smoak was beautiful. 

But she was also scared. Her eyes flitted around the cafe and her fingers fidgeted with the sugar packets she had emptied into her coffee.

“Relax,” he said, injecting a touch of charm into his voice. Hoping that if he flirted with her a little, she would calm down.

She tilted her head, her expression challenging. “Does that work? Ever?”

“I’m told I’m very comforting,” Oliver said, lifting his cup of espresso to hide his smirk.

“I bet,” she muttered, before brushing aside the mangled packets and leveling him with her gaze. “So how does this work?”

“We drink our coffees and then we’ll leave together, like any other couple,” Oliver explained, one eyebrow arched.

Felicity parted those perfectly-shaped lips of hers, then pressed them together for a moment. “And then?”

There was doubt in her voice. Normally, Oliver would retort with stinging sarcasm, but he held back. Because he knew the doubt covered her fear. 

“And then I’ll tell you the next step,” he said gently. “Let me worry about that and you just focus on staying calm. I understand this is scary for you, Ms. Smoak, but I am very good at my job. I will keep you safe.”

“It’s not just about keeping me safe,” Felicity said, leaning forward. Her eyes snapped with passion and fire. “It’s about protecting the defenseless.” 

She paused, and Oliver had the most disquieting feeling as she appraised him. Like she was examining every nook and cranny inside him. 

“Can I trust you?” 

Her question was quiet and sincere. Felicity Smoak struck him as an idealist. Clearly, she was a naive young woman, one who had seen little of the world and had unknowingly stumbled upon something beyond her knowledge.

“You can trust me,” he told her, matching her sincerity. With any other woman, it would be a line. Yet there was a whisper of something, in his soul, that said it was the truth.

For the first time since he met her, Felicity’s shoulders relaxed and her face smoothed, a small smile appearing on her lips. 

“Mr. Queen.” 

The sound of his name made Oliver become hyper-alert. Felicity’s eyes widened and when Oliver turned his head in the direction of the voice, he saw why.

There was a suppressed Glock 17 pointed at him.

XXX

Oliver fell against Felicity as he jumped into the cab she had hailed. He pressed her down against the seat, covering her with his body, as he turned his head and looked at the clearly-stunned cabbie. It probably wasn’t every day that a man and a woman leaped into his cab because they were fleeing attackers. 

“ _44, Rue des Prairies. Vite! Double le tarif_ ,” Oliver barked, telling the driver that he would double the fare. When the cabbie kept hesitating, he said, “ _Triple_!”

That got him moving, shifting the Renault into gear and heading towards the east of Paris.

Their transportation settled, Oliver turned to Felicity and ran his hands over her face, then down her arms. “Felicity?” he asked, surprised at how gentle his voice was. “Are you hurt?”

Her eyes were huge behind her glasses and her hair was completely disheveled. Her tongue flashed out to moisten her lips, and then she spoke quickly. “I--I’m fine. You don’t have to keep touching me. I’m okay. Please, stop touching me, because otherwise you’ll have to pay the driver quadruple because of what’s about to happen in this back seat.” 

Even before she had finished speaking, her cheeks were stained pink from her innuendo, and Oliver was equal parts charmed and suddenly very conscious of how many points of contact there were between their bodies.

Without a word, he shifted away from her and adjusted his suit. “We’ll be there soon.” 

Felicity nodded and bit her full lower lip. He supposed it was a way for her to hold back her questions, but all it did was focus his attention on her mouth.

Tearing his eyes away, he looked out the window briefly, making sure the cabbie wasn’t taking any detours and was moving with the required speed, as he contemplated what had happened. 

They had only sent four men. It was a severe underestimation of his abilities, but with an innocent civilian like Felicity with him, Oliver had needed to act cautiously. So instead of complete elimination in front of her, he had merely incapacitated the men and then sent Felicity ahead to get them a cab as he finished the job.

It was the first time he had hesitated to kill in front of someone. Perhaps it was only to keep Felicity from running from him--because of the knowledge she possessed and for her own safety--but Oliver was still disturbed by his hesitation.

“Your name is Queen?” 

Felicity’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. Oliver looked at her and realized he hadn’t revealed his real name to her. He would have let her only know him by his pseudonym, but now that the cat was out of the bag . . . 

“Yes, it’s Queen--Oliver Queen.” 

He watched her face as she took that in. And then her lips curved in a soft smile. “Oliver Queen. I like that. So . . . was this your next step? Having to run from a bunch of men who wanted to kill you?” 

To his surprise, he chuckled. “You’d be surprised how often it is the next step.” 

Her smile grew larger and Oliver felt his lips quirking, before she looked away. She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out something as she gathered her hair. And as he watched her pull her hair into a sleek ponytail, Oliver Queen felt his blood stir.

XXX

When they reached the safe house, Oliver ushered Felicity inside, acting for all the world like a businessman indulging in a lunchtime affair with his secretary. Which was a thought he pushed to the back of his mind, since it was time to get down to business.

“Are you hungry?” he asked once they were inside the second-floor apartment, leading her into the sitting room before his hand fell away from her back. 

Felicity shook her head, her ponytail swishing against her shoulders in a gentle susurration. “No, I’m fine. But--but I would like to know what comes next.”

He could feel his lips twist in a reluctant smile. She was single-minded and relentless, qualities he appreciated. “Very well. Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the seating arrangement of two couches set opposite each other, two wing chairs flanking them. 

There was the slightest tremble in her fingers as she undid the buttons on her coat, revealing her pink dress with the strategic cut-out over her chest. She sank down on the sofa, crossing her legs at the ankle and resting her hands in her lap. 

“Why don’t you tell me how you acquired your information?” he said, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he took the chair closest to her. He had considered sitting beside her, but at the last moment he had moved away from the sofa. 

She took a deep breath. “I’m the manager of the information technology team within the Applied Sciences Division of Merlyn Global. I create the hardware and software to support the division’s work. Six months ago, I started receiving . . . unusual requests.” 

“Unusual how?” he prompted when she stayed silent for a long moment. 

“How much do you know about technology?” she asked, sliding her glasses up on her nose, a gesture that was so delightfully prim that Oliver couldn’t help smiling. 

“Not much,” he admitted.

A small smile touched her lips for a moment before she grew serious again. “They were unusual because I couldn’t see any application for them beyond weapons. So . . . I started paying attention.”

“Why do that? Why not just report it to your supervisor?”

Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “I hate mysteries. And my supervisor is an idiot.” 

Oliver chuckled softly. “Is that all?”

The gentle blush that rose in her cheeks, and the way she bit her lip, told Oliver that amid her fear and nerves, Felicity was noticing him. And since they would now need to stay in this apartment until nightfall, an event that was several hours away . . . 

Lightly and casually, he let his hand fall over her folded ones. And the tingle that went through him nearly made him jerk his fingers away. 

“So--so I started gathering all the documents I could,” Felicity said, her voice high-pitched and quick-paced. “Electronic copies, I mean. I put them on a flash drive and kept it with me always. But then Mr. Merlyn started appearing in the office all the time and paying attention to me and I overheard something about the Algerians and . . . and I got scared.”

“Is that when you sent your message to MI-6?” he asked, leaning in towards her and rubbing his thumb against her palm, his callouses scratching against the silky smooth skin of her hand.

She nodded, her head lowered. Then she lifted her head and gazed at him, her eyes flicking between his lips and his eyes. “Yes. And that’s how I met you.” 

“Lucky for me,” he said, bringing his face close to hers. There were barely inches between them and he could smell the scent of citrus and sunshine. It was an intoxicating combination, and his eyes focused on her lips.

Therefore, there was no hesitation in his response to her when she leaned in to kiss him. 

XXX

As they stumbled into one of the apartment’s bedrooms, their hands roaming at will over each other’s bodies, Oliver wondered what they were doing. True, it wasn’t the first time he had fallen into bed with someone while working. Or even the first time he had slept with a contact. But with Felicity . . . it felt different. 

Perhaps it was because she wasn’t like anyone else he had ever met. She challenged him in ways he had never experienced before. Whether it was asking him what ‘the next step’ was or making his body feel like a randy teenager’s, Felicity was . . . remarkable. 

“Oliver,” she moaned as he lowered the zipper on her dress, “should we be doing this?” 

He grinned at her. “We can’t leave here until nightfall. I can’t think of a better way to spend our time.” 

Her answering smile was amused yet sensual. “And you don’t want to prepare for what’s going to happen next?” 

“Oh, I’m prepared for that,” he said, pushing her dress off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, his eyes hungry to take in every inch of her body. 

Felicity’s hands were not idle, either. His jacket had been left in the sitting room and his shirt was already unbuttoned. Now she pushed it off his shoulders, her eyes taking in all the evidence of his eight years in the intelligence service. But unlike every woman he had been with, there was neither pity nor arousal at his scars and tattoos; only admiration and empathy. And when her fingers traced over his abs, Oliver knew he couldn’t wait much longer. 

“Felicity,” he muttered before kissing her hungrily, his desire for her sweeping him away in a brand-new way. And when they fell into bed and their bodies joined together, Oliver found himself silently marveling at everything she gave and everything she took. 

X-X-X

It was barely midnight, yet Oliver was awake. But instead of being awoken by a nightmare, he had slowly drifted out of sleep, feeling warm and secure. Because Felicity was cuddled up against his side, her body soft and loose in sleep, and it was the first time in a really, really long time that he felt like this. Like he didn’t have the weight of the free world resting on his shoulders, which meant he could finally have something that was just for him.

Something like Felicity

There was some kind of connection between them. From the first moment in the Louvre, he had felt it. Something that went beyond his normal requirement to guard a contact, to something that was more like a need. He needed to protect Felicity. From whomever might want the information she had smuggled out of her company . . . or from whomever might want to blunt the light that poured out of her. 

His hand ran through her hair, stroking the strands of sunshine. As much as he wished they could stay in this bed, they had work to do. He was only ordered to acquire Felicity’s intelligence and then pass her along to the Parisian police, but he would not be doing that. 

He was going to bring her with him. 

“Felicity,” he said softly, pressing kisses along her jaw to her ear, and then whispering her name again. “Felicity.” 

She let out a soft, breathy sigh, one that made his body stir in spite of his duty, and then opened her eyes. At this distance, the lack of her glasses didn’t appear to matter: she could see him. And in her eyes, he saw her accepting his departure. 

So he smiled at her softly. “We have to get going. We need to get to London.” 

Her eyes widen. “We? You mean--you and me?”

Oliver kissed her lightly, then nodded. “You and me.”

And when she smiled, like the sun rising in the middle of the night, he knew he had made the right decision.

XXX

A half-hour after they woke, Oliver and Felicity left the safe house. His arm was draped over Felicity’s shoulders, on top of the black trench coat she had taken from the clothing supplies in the apartment. It was a shame that she had traded her bright coat and dress for dark trousers and coat, her heels replaced with sturdy boots. But he knew it was more practical. 

Oliver, dressed in his own suit still, led Felicity towards the nearest metro station. “We’ll just make it before the system shuts down for the night,” he said softly into her ear, nuzzling her a little. For their cover. 

“Where are we going?” she asked softly, turning her head and looking up at him with so much trust in her eyes. 

“Gare du Nord,” he said, kissing her lightly.

Her eyebrows went up slightly. “Eurostar?” she whispered, referring to the train service that connected Paris and London.

“Right,” he replied, kissing her again and then straightening slightly, feeling an itch on the back of his neck. As they turned the corner towards the nearest Metro, he let his head lazily swivel, taking in their surroundings.

Just able to catch a glimpse of two stocky men, dressed in black. 

Two men were nothing. But he didn’t like the fact that they had been waiting for them to leave. That they had traced them to the safe house.

To keep Felicity from worrying, Oliver held his tongue. But something of his tension must have communicated itself to her, because she picked up the pace of her footsteps.

Within moments, they had reached the Metro station and clambered down the narrow staircase. Oliver bought them both fare cards, halting Felicity’s move towards her purse with a quick shake of his head. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the men hanging back. He bit back a curse, then kissed Felicity. Although he meant it to merely preserve their cover, the touch of her lips eased some of his tension. 

Dropping his arm from her shoulders, he took her hand and hurried them down to the platform. 

“Oliver?” Felicity asked softly, her voice holding a dozen different emotions. 

“We’re okay,” he said.

“You are an awful liar,” she snapped, digging into her purse and drawing out a sleek-looking tablet. She tapped the screen to wake the device, then her fingers flew over the screen. 

He watched, his mouth falling open, as Felicity pulled up video from the station’s security cameras, something that looked like an official Metro communication channel, and a list of incoming trains. 

“What . . . ?” 

Felicity looked up at him and gave him a small smirk. “This is what I’m good at.” 

And even though it was the least-professional thing he could do at that moment, Oliver couldn’t help it. He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. “One of the things you’re good at,” he whispered against her lips, grinning at her. 

Her smirk changed into a pleased, shy grin, and Oliver wrapped his arm around her shoulders again. According to her tablet, there was only a minute to wait until the next train. 

There were plenty of people on the platform; the men would not make a move in public. They were following them, to report in to their superiors, to set up a trap at their destination. 

But Oliver would match his skills against anyone. And now he had an ace in the hole with Felicity.

Although he was surprised when the two men chose to board the train in the same car as they did. Felicity was doing something on her tablet, muttering under her breath, and Oliver tried to hear what she was saying as the men approached, his eyes locked on them. Trying to identify their next move. 

“Mr. Queen,” one of the men said, stopping in front of him. “We have no desire for innocent bystanders to fall in the middle of this disagreement.”

“Which means what?” Oliver asked, glancing between the two men, keeping his arm around Felicity, who had stiffened as soon as the man had said his name.

The man’s eyebrows lifted. “Simply that if you give us your companion and her data, we will let the people in this car live.”

XXX

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Oliver said smoothly, his voice unruffled. Yet his mind was calculating, searching for advantages. There were only two other passengers in the car: a woman about Felicity’s age and an elderly man. The men in front of him did not appear armed--no bulges for hidden guns--so he was expecting some kind of biological weapon, which was . . . unfortunate. 

“Do not discount our determination to have Mademoiselle’s intelligence,” the other man said, his English heavily accented. Algerian French, Oliver thought. 

Both men took a step forward. “We will have her information,” the first man said. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a grenade. His companion drew out two more, his eyebrow arching cockily. 

Oliver set his jaw. They might thought they had him beat, but that was always the best position to be working from. To be utterly discounted because your opponent thought you had no options. He opened his mouth to respond, only for Felicity to stand up. 

“Wait. Wait, please--please don’t drop those. I’ll go with you.” 

Her voice was panicked, shaking from her terror. A terror that Oliver felt, too. He leapt to his feet. “Felicity--” 

She looked at him, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry. I--I didn’t tell you something.” 

“What? What do you--” Oliver began to say, only for Felicity to lean up and kiss him softly. It was quick and all too soon, she pulled back, clutching her tablet in her hands. 

“It--it wasn’t me,” she said, looking up at him. “I didn’t steal the schematics. And I’m not going to die for this.” 

His mind whirled, trying to make sense of her words in context of her actions. Because--because everything about her made him think that she was exactly what he thought she was: a smart, kind, beautiful woman. But now she was saying she wasn’t that woman. That she hadn’t stolen the data and contacted MI-6, that she didn’t want to prevent bloodshed. No, she did want to do that--but all she cared about was her own blood. 

As he stood there dumbly, staring at her, the man with the single grenade took Felicity’s arm, dragging her towards one set of doors. The train was slowing, pulling into the next station. The other man stood still, his eyes locked on Oliver. 

Licking his lips, Oliver tried to speak. “Felicity . . .” 

Her chest heaved and she let out a soft little hiccup as the tears poured down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” 

The train came to a stop and the doors opened. The other two riders, not liking the look of this, scurried onto the platform, looking scared. At the same time, the man dragged Felicity off the train. 

And the other man pulled the pins in both grenades and dropped them casually, like they were an unneeded newspaper, before he stepped off the train.

He spared one look out the window at Felicity, whose head was lowered, her eyes fixed on her tablet as she tapped and swiped. What--what was she doing?

As if she knew he was looking at her, Felicity lifted her head and looked right at him. One of her eyes twitched, like--like she was trying to wink? He didn’t know. But it gave him a shot of hope. That he hadn’t been wrong about her. 

Without any further delay, Oliver dashed for the door that would lead to the next car. Shouldering it open, he kneeled down, checking the couplings that connected the two cars together, doing his best to keep his feet in spite of the swaying cars and rushing wind. They had been in the first car. If he could get the cars uncoupled . . . 

The coupling was electronic. There was no mechanical way to unhook the cars. 

Oliver swallowed. He was nearly out of time. The grenades would go off any moment. Oliver reached down, preparing to try to pry the coupling apart through sheer physical strength, when suddenly, the coupling just . . . fell open? 

Staring at it, he was still wondering what the hell had happened when the grenades exploded.

XXX

When he slowly opened his eyes, the first thought in Oliver Queen’s mind was why was he lying on his stomach. When he tried to lift himself up, the weakness in his arms and the slash of pain across his back told him why. 

So hospital, probably. Which at least meant the explosion hadn’t been too extreme, if he had survived it--Felicity.

He turned his head and felt his breath rush out of him at the sight of Felicity, sitting in a chair beside his bed with her eyes closed. Her hair was lank and disheveled, her clothes rumpled, and her glasses bore a small crack in one of the lenses. She was beautiful and she was here. 

“Felicity,” he said, his voice coming out raspy, cracking in the midst of her name. 

Her eyes flew open, and the smile that appeared on her face was like warm sunshine falling over his whole body. “Oliver,” she said, rising out of her chair and leaning towards him, her hands running over his head and face. Then she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It was awkward, since he was still on his stomach and he couldn’t use his arms to lift himself up any. But it was still perfect. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, her eyes locking on his. 

“I’ve been worse,” he said, testing his back and wincing. “Other than my back, what’s the damage?”

Felicity bit her lip. “A bruised spleen and kidneys, a lot of cuts and bruises, and a concussion.” 

Nodding, he looked at her. “Is something wrong?” he questioned, because although she didn’t seem to have any physical injuries, there was something about the way she was holding herself . . . 

“No--not wrong, per se,” she said, drawing back from him a little. Enough for him to see her slender, delicate wrists encircled with handcuffs. 

His eyes went wide, and then he looked up at her, a million questions crowding his mind. Felicity gave him a weak, trembling smile.

“What I said on the subway was true. I didn’t tell you something. I work for the CIA.” 

What? Felicity, the woman who stood before him, worked for the CIA?

“I’m in support services,” she said quickly. “I never work in the field. But for this case--for this thing with the Algerians and the Egyptians, they needed their best hacker, on the inside of Merlyn Global. So they sent me in, with an agent to help me. Only--only Bryce, the agent? He . . . he died, so I could get away. And I didn’t know what to do, but I--I might have done a little hacking and saw that MI-6 had an agent in Paris on the same job, so I . . . I contacted you, and I was going to tell you everything, but then--then I didn’t, because I knew if I did, nothing could happen and I wanted . . . well, you. But it doesn’t matter, because I have to go back to Washington.” 

Oliver blinked, trying to absorb all this information. Trying to make it fit. “Why--why do you have to go back?” 

Her smile was sad and so resigned that it made his chest ache. “Because I’m not working for the CIA by choice. It was part of a deal I made.”

“Felicity,” he said softly, not knowing what to say. Because if she had been compelled to work for the CIA . . . they must have caught her in the midst of some kind of illegal act. One that demonstrated skills that the CIA wanted. 

“They were nice enough to let me stay until you woke up,” Felicity said quietly. “And now I’ve got a few more years on my contract, although I should probably say sentence. So I won’t be seeing you again, Oliver.” She looked at him, her tears slipping down her cheeks. “So that’s why it’s really nice that they let me stay.” 

“Don’t go,” he said, ignoring the pain to get one arm underneath himself, to reach out towards her with his other hand. “I can--we can figure this out, Felicity--”

She stepped back, shaking her head. “No, you can’t. I’m sorry, Oliver. I--I’m so sorry.” She turned and started walking away, but then she stopped and whirled around. She dashed back towards his bed, a blur of light, and kissed him deeply. He kissed her back, managing to get a hand into her hair and holding her against him for one perfect moment. 

“Be safe, Oliver,” she whispered against his lips, and then she was gone. 

Slumping down against the bed, Oliver closed his eyes. Trying to push aside the pain. He knew the physical aches would fade in a moment. But he was less confident about the emotional one.

XXX

_Six Months Later . . ._

The last of the autumn leaves were still clinging to the trees, lazily falling onto the avenues of Washington, D.C. They floated past his shoulders, making him feel like he wasn’t really here. Like this was yet another dream.

But this was real. He was in America, fully recovered from his injuries, finally in possession of the most important piece of intelligence he had ever carried.

Felicity Smoak’s address.

It had taken calling in every favor he owned, making slightly-disreputable deals and working mostly-unsatisfactory jobs, in order to find her. Because Felicity Smoak was like a ghost within the American intelligence community. A woman with unparalleled technological skills, able to tease out information from any computer. Where she came from, how she started working for the CIA, was a mystery to nearly everyone. She was a ghost: unseen and unknown, but with a presence that had affected innumerable missions over the past five years.

And she had been sentenced to work for her government until she was nearly sixty, thanks to her youthful mistakes and her genius-level intellect. 

It must have been a lonely life, especially for such a warm, caring woman like Felicity. In the months since she had left him in that Paris hospital, Oliver had experienced so many emotions at the mere thought of that mysterious, captivating blonde. At first he had been angry, frustrated that she wouldn’t even try. That she hadn’t told him the truth. But now that he knew more about her, now that he understood what kind of life she had . . . his anger had long ago faded away, replaced only with determination. To give her at least a small sliver of a life. Something to hold on to, something to keep her smiling.

He just hoped he would be enough to give her that hope.

Double-checking the piece of paper in his hand, against the number plates affixed by each door, Oliver took a breath and looked up at the dingy-looking brick building in front of him. This was the location. This was where Felicity was. 

So there was no reason to hesitate. 

Oliver took the stairs two at a time, tapping in the code by the front door that his contact had provided, and then stepped into the building. Felicity’s apartment was on the third floor, and once again he hurried up the stairs, his eagerness unable to be restrained. And then he was standing in front of her door, and going against years of training and practice, he didn’t wait, he didn’t take the time to observe his surroundings. He just knocked on her door. 

There were a few quiet rustles, and then the sound of locks being turned open, and Oliver had the sudden thought that he should have brought flowers. 

But then Felicity was there, grasping the doorknob and staring at him, her eyes so wide behind her glasses. Her hair was loose and wavy, falling around the shoulders of the t-shirt she was wearing with her yoga pants. She held a coffee mug in one hand and had a pen clutched between her lips, her pink lipstick clashing beautifully against the red of the pen.

Her mouth fell open and the pen dropped to the floor. “Oliver?” she whispered, sounding shocked and amazed and hopeful. 

He nodded, smiling at her. “You are a hard woman to find, Felicity Smoak. Otherwise, I would have been here in time for your birthday.” 

“Oliver!” she cried, letting her mug drop out of sight before she threw her arms around him, pressing against him like she had missed him as much as he missed her. Then her lips were pressing against his, and he closed his eyes as he sank into her kiss. 

“If--If I had known--you were my present, I wouldn’t have minded--having to wait,” she muttered between kisses.

Scooting her back as he came into her apartment, he kicked the door closed behind him. “Then why don’t you unwrap me?” he said, grinning at her. 

Her cheeks went pink, but a saucy smile appeared on her face before she kissed him again. Her hands neatly unzipped his leather jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and Oliver lifted her up. 

There was still so much unsaid and unsettled between them. But he knew they were a good team. Oliver was looking forward to finding out just how good they were together.

End.


	18. cooking muscles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for mersayseh and machawicket.

“Felicity?”

“Yeah?” she asked, not looking up from her tablet.

Suddenly a wooden spoon, covered in something that smelled delicious, appeared between her eyes and her tablet.  “Is there too much garlic in this?”

“Oliver!” she yelped, jerking her tablet away and then looking up at him.  And blinking.  

Because it wasn’t every day your muscled, ruthless puppy dog of a boyfriend put on an apron and whipped up what smelled like the most divine marinara sauce ever.  

Well, actually, it did happen a lot.  Oliver cooking, that is.  It had been five days since they decided to stop driving and stay in this little town on the outskirts of Portland, Oregon.  And every night, he had cooked for them.  Nothing too fancy, although this morning at the grocery store, he had been eyeing a leg of lamb.  But she had no idea that Oliver could even microwave a frozen dinner, let alone make an amazing macaroni & cheese and could grill steak or fish to perfection.

She knew if she had thought about it, it would have made plenty of sense–an unknown number of years on an island, after all.  But it never failed to surprise her, just how … _domestic_ her Oliver was.  

It was adorable and wonderful and hella hot.  Because she had a boyfriend who cooked, and that was kryptonite for most of the female population of the world.  Add in how Oliver looked and she was never going to let anyone know just what she had.

“Felicity?” he repeated, his voice amused.  “The sauce?”

“Oh!” she said, quickly taking a taste.  “Mmmmm.  That’s so good.”  

Her little moan was completely planned yet totally spontaneous.  Because she really liked how his eyes went dark when she let out that little moan, but she also couldn’t help moaning at how good the sauce was.

“Yeah?” he asked, resting one hand on the back of the couch behind her, leaning his body in against hers.

Nodding, Felicity took his wrist and brought the spoon back to her mouth, licking up every bit of the sauce and watching him the whole time.  When the spoon was clean, she let go of his wrist and gave him a sassy little smirk.  “Just the right amount of garlic.”

Oliver groaned and came the rest of the way, pressing against her and kissing her hard and soft, rough and gentle.  Because _God_ , he was good at kissing.

And because he had clearly been testing the sauce himself, his mouth was just as garlicy as hers.  Although really, Felicity wouldn’t have let something like an uneven balance of garlic interrupt _this_.  

His fingers started unbuttoning the shirt she was wearing–one of his plaid shirts–and Felicity moaned softly.  “What about dinner?”

“The sauce can simmer for a while longer,” he said, his lips making a beeline for her neck.  Because he loved to kiss and lick and suck on her neck, and she loved when he kissed and licked and sucked her there.  

“Okay,” she said breathlessly, her hands roaming over him, tugging at his clothes.

He kept the apron on, though.

End.


	19. sartorial choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [ihatepeas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ihatepeas/pseuds/ihatepeas). Happy birthday, Sarah!

It was unusually muggy for late October, especially in Starling City, but Oliver didn’t mind too much. His early-morning runs were a habit he had continued after they had returned home, and he wasn’t ready to give them up because of a little humidity. Besides, he always sweated a lot on his runs, so it didn’t really matter. 

And Felicity liked him sweaty. 

Smiling to himself, Oliver walked into their bedroom, peeling his t-shirt off. Felicity was right where he left her: asleep, in their bed. 

_Their bed_. Even after nearly six months, he still felt a thrill at any indication of how far they had come. Whether it was Felicity getting the hot sauce he liked when she was at the store, or taking her lunch when she had back-to-back meetings, or just remembering that the bed was theirs . . . Oliver loved that moment when he realized, once again, that he and Felicity were together.

He dropped his shirt in the hamper and then stretched out beside Felicity in bed. Her face was turned towards his, some of her hair falling across her eyes. He lifted his hand and brushed her curls back, giving him clear access to her mouth where he placed a soft, gentle kiss. 

After a moment, her lips moved against his and a tiny little half-moan, half-murmur slipped out. “Mmmm . . .” Her hand reached for him, gliding over his chest, as she pulled him in towards her. 

“Good morning,” he said against her lips, gazing at her even though her features were slightly distorted. But still so beautiful. 

“Hi,” she said softly, brushing her nose against his. “Yay, you’re shirtless. You are like, super-sweaty today, too.” 

Oliver chuckled softly. “It’s pretty humid outside.” 

She opened one eye and squinted at him. “And you still went running?” 

Shrugging his shoulders, he propped himself up on one arm. “Sure.” 

“You are such a better person than me,” Felicity said, moving so she could bury her face against his neck, her complaints about his sweatiness ignored. “Mmm. Sweaty Oliver smell.” 

“‘Sweaty Oliver smell’? That doesn’t sound very appealing,” he teased, running his hand over her hair. 

“It is to me,” she mumbled, kissing his neck. “Even if it meant you went out running and left me here, all alone.” 

He pulled back so he could look into her face. “You were in the same position when I came back as when I left.”

Felicity’s pout was so adorable, so artless, that Oliver couldn’t help grinning. “But I sensed you were gone,” she insisted. “I knew something wasn’t right.” 

With a laugh, he shook his head and leaned in to kiss her again. “I’m very sorry,” he said against her lips.

“You should be, Mr. Queen,” she murmured back. “I’m tempted to shower all by myself. That seems like a proper punishment.” 

“Why do we have to shower at all, Ms. Smoak?” he asked, moving his lips towards her neck.

“Oliver,” she groaned, rolling away from him. She flopped onto her back and mock-glared at him. “Even if I do like sweaty Oliver smell, I’d make you shower before we go any farther. And we _both_ have to shower, because we’re having brunch with Thea.” 

Frowning, Oliver searched his memory and then recalled Thea’s invitation, extended a few nights ago as they wrapped up patrol. “That’s today?” 

“Yep,” Felicity replied, popping the P. “Today. Sunday. The traditional day for brunch.” 

“This Sunday?” he said, grinning at her as he ran his hand across her stomach, trying to wrap around her far hip and pull her back against him. 

“Nuh-huh-huh,” she protested, even as she let him draw her close. “We need to shower.”

Oliver brushed his nose against hers. “Okay,” he agreed. “But together?” 

Leaning back, Felicity gazed at him. Then, a bright, happy smile appeared on her face--a smile that took his breath away. “Together,” she said softly, before leaning in to kiss him softly.

Even with the time savings from showering together, they were nearly late for brunch.

XXX

Thea Queen had plenty of evidence that her brother was ridiculously, completely, so-over-the-moon-he-was-ready-to-burst-into-song, in love. And she knew that Felicity felt the same way about Oliver. So she had gotten used to making adjustments to deal with their ultimate couple-ness. Any meal reservation was actually fifteen minutes later than she told Ollie and Felicity. She called Felicity’s phone when she really needed to talk to Oliver. And everyone, not just Thea, had learned to stomp their way into Team Arrow’s base of operations, because no one wanted to have their eyes scarred by the sight of Oliver and Felicity going at it. 

The last impression she wanted to give was begrudging Ollie his happiness. She had never seen him like this--even before the island, in those moments when that ten year age gap didn’t get in the way, she knew her big brother wasn’t all that happy with his life. But now? The happiness was practically visible. 

It all added up to Thea being understanding of their prolonged honeymoon period. But even she had her limits. So when Ollie and Felicity rolled into the trendy little spot she had picked for brunch, she was ready to tell them to turn around and go home to change. 

Because this dressing alike thing was getting out of hand. 

It was happening so often, even _Laurel_ had noticed. And most of the time, Laurel barely noticed anything that involved Oliver or Felicity or anyone that wasn’t herself. 

Clearly, it was time for an intervention. 

She waited until they had greeted each other, put in their drink orders (mimosas for her and Felicity, a Bloody Mary for Oliver) and selected from the brunch specials. And then she leaned back in her chair, folded her arms over her chest, and said, “I don’t understand how two people that are always gazing at each other never really see each other.” 

Felicity immediately looked down at her clothes, while Ollie looked confused. “What do you mean, Thea?”

Oh, this was going to be good. Thea smirked. “This is the sixth time in the last two weeks that you two have dressed alike.” 

Ollie’s frown deepened while Felicity looked at Oliver, then back at herself. The blonde’s cheeks went pink. “We’re both wearing plaid.” 

Thea grinned as Oliver repeated Felicity’s action in reverse, taking in the blue flannel shirt he had on and then Felicity’s red plaid top. Then he looked at her and shrugged. “So we’re wearing the same pattern, Speedy.” 

“It’s every time I see you, though,” Thea argued. “Yesterday, you had on your gray suit and Felicity was wearing a gray pencil skirt. Three days before that, you had a striped tie and Felicity was rocking that striped dress. Last week, you both wore white t-shirts and jeans.” She paused and arched her eyebrow. “Do I need to go on?” 

“Only if you explain why you’re paying so much attention to our wardrobes,” Ollie snarked. 

“It’s creepy,” she protested. “Like people starting to look like their dogs or something. C’mon, Felicity, it’s weird, right?” 

Like always, Ollie immediately turned to look at Felicity at the sound of her name, and Thea watched as they had one of those silent conversations they were always having. This one had lip twitches and head tilts, evoking embarrassment and amusement. And then Felicity took Ollie’s hand and looked at Thea. 

“Maybe it is a little weird, but . . . so what?” 

The waiter set down their drinks, and Thea immediately picked up her flute and downed her mimosa. “Another, please,” she said, handing the glass back to the waiter. “I’m going to need it with these two.” 

“Thea,” Ollie said, that big-brother note in his voice, so she rolled her eyes and shook her head at the waiter, cancelling her order. 

“At least now Christmas shopping has gotten easier,” Thea noted. “It’ll be like having adult twins to dress.” 

“That makes it sound like Oliver and I are brother and sister,” Felicity said, wrinkling her nose. 

Ollie, who had just started drinking his Bloody Mary, nearly did a spit take. He lowered the glass, looking at his girlfriend with drops of tomato juice clinging to his chin. “Why would you even think that, let alone say it?!?” 

Thea was too busy laughing to hear how Felicity got out of that one.

XXX

Leaning her head back against the seat back, Felicity gazed at Oliver as he drove home. Taking in his forearms, revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid shirt. The lines of his profile, with his strong nose and chin. His long fingers, no longer rubbing and twitching like they used to, but lightly tapping against the steering wheel. 

There were still moments when she looked at him and was just taken aback. Amazed that they were here, together. And that always made her think about the day they met, the moment she turned around in her cubicle at QC and saw _Oliver Queen_ standing in front of her. 

Since then, she had seen a million different Olivers, but there were times she looked at him and saw him like it was the first time. And she hoped that would never stop happening. Because she didn’t think she could ever take him for granted, but she didn’t want to get used to him. To how he made her feel. 

Reaching out, she ran her hand along his arm. “We’ve got the rest of the day for just us,” she said softly, letting her hand cover his on the steering wheel. 

“We do,” he said, glancing at her and smiling. “Got any ideas? Other than the obvious?” 

“Well, we could act like two normal, mature adults,” Felicity replied, smiling as she skirted past his normal response. “Clean up the kitchen, change the sheets on the bed, do a couple loads of laundry . . .” 

“I just changed the sheets on Wednesday,” Oliver said, spreading his fingers so her digits entwined with his. 

Felicity frowned. “Why?” 

“You already forgot Tuesday night?” he asked, glancing at her with a smirk. 

Oh. _Tuesday_. When Oliver had decided to go down on her for an actual hour. Even as her cheeks went pink, Felicity lifted her chin. “I didn’t forget. I just didn’t realize the sheets were that much of a mess. With all the earth-shattering pleasure, I wasn’t paying attention.”

His smirk deepened, but she could see how his cheeks flushed lightly. “Yeah, well, I wanted us to have clean sheets.” 

This was another thing she never wanted to get used to: how adorable Oliver was when he was being thoughtful and considerate like this. 

“So option one: be grown-ups,” Oliver said, lifting her hand and kissing her knuckles, before shifting gears without disturbing her hand on top of his. “I hope there’s an option two.”

“There is,” she said, smiling at him. “We get some junk food, watch movies on the couch with no pants on, and then order dinner.” 

“Option two,” Oliver replied immediately. “Especially the no pants part.” 

Giggling softly, Felicity shifted as close to him as she could, within the boundaries of their bucket seats and seat belts. “I thought that would sell you on option two.” 

He gave her a lazy grin. “You know me so well.” 

“I don’t know everything, but I’m working on it,” she said, playing with his fingers a little. “I mean, having you all to myself for five months, after working with you for nearly three years, I got a good start on knowing everything about you. But I’m pretty sure I’ll need years and years to really know Oliver Queen.” 

Felicity watched as he turned his head towards her as she spoke, watching her as much as he could while driving. Hanging onto her words, soaking them up. She could see how he was mulling them over, wondering if she meant what he thought she was saying. 

When it came to Oliver, she meant every word she said. So when she basically said she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him . . . that was what she wanted.

“I think option two is better for that, too,” Oliver said in a whisper, squeezing her hand tightly.

Oliver Queen was secretly a big softie. And he was _her_ big softie. So she squeezed his hand back and said, “Yeah, I think so, too.” 

End.


	20. now playing, number 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Stephen's belated birthday gift to Emily. Rated M.

Felicity giggled to herself as she pulled on the jersey. When she had driven off into the sunset with Oliver, she hadn’t realized all the things she would be learning.

Like baseball. And how Oliver was a fan. And liked to watch baseball on TV on lazy Sunday afternoons, with her curled up beside him. Which she didn’t mind, because he didn’t make her watch it--he was fine if she spent the whole game playing around on her tablet--he just liked having her with him. 

So when she realized that there was a player on the Blue Jays named Smoak, she got an idea. Of course, it would be even better if there was a player whose last name was Queen, but the thought of wearing a jersey with Queen on the back made her stomach flutter a little. Because it was a little early to be having that discussion, even if she couldn’t imagine being with anyone other than Oliver. 

The jersey had arrived today, in a case of perfect timing. Oliver had gone off to the local archery range to practice--or show off, more accurately--and she had the house to herself. Which was a little lonely and made the arrival of the jersey clear evidence that the universe was giving her a sign. A sign to blow Oliver’s mind. 

There was a soft jingle, barely noticeable, from the front door and she just knew it was Oliver. So she buttoned up the last button and dashed into the kitchen, pulling open the door of the fridge to block most of her from view.

The front door of their rental house opened and immediately Oliver’s voice called out, “Felicity?” 

“In the kitchen,” she said, hoping her voice sounded normal. And not excited and giddy to see his reaction. 

“I think I need to restring that bow--it’s just not . . . working . . . Felicity?”

Letting one foot pop up from behind the door, she then curved her body so that just her head was visible. “Yes?”

Oliver was a bit sweaty, wearing cargo pants and one of those thin henleys that perfectly outlined his pecs. Which were amazing--a fact Felicity knew from first-hand knowledge, she thought with a smirk. His eyes were slightly narrowed, but a soft smile played around his lips.

“Why are you hiding behind the refrigerator door?” 

“Oh, no reason . . .” Felicity replied, leaning back a little so just a little of the jersey was visible. “I have a surprise for you.” 

His smile widened. “Yeah?” 

Felicity nodded, bouncing a little on her feet. “You wanna see it?” 

“Yeah, I wanna see it,” he said, leaning against the doorway. 

Normally, she would draw it out a little, but . . . but she was just too excited. So Felicity closed the door of the fridge as she turned to face Oliver. So she could watch his eyes go wide. 

She had bought a men’s large, so the neckline was nearly wide enough that it hung off her shoulders. (At least, that was because she hadn’t done up the top two buttons.) And since she hadn’t buttoned the bottom button, the jersey revealed a lot of her legs. Which she happened to know always drew Oliver’s eye. Overall, the jersey was big enough to nearly be a dress on her. 

“I know it’s a Blue Jays jersey . . .” Felicity said, taking small steps towards him, making her voice soft and low. “But I thought you might like this one.” She slowly turned around, feeling the weight of his eyes as they ran over her. Then she lifted up her hair and turned to look at him over the shoulder. “See the name?” 

Oliver looked frozen. His eyes had gone wide and his mouth was hanging open a little. She couldn’t help smiling. This was even better than she had expected. “Oliver?” she prodded. 

“Yeah. Hi?” 

Biting her lip, she prompted him, “What’s the player’s name on this jersey?” 

“Oh. Smoak. Justin Smoak. He--he’s a switch-hitter.” 

Something about Oliver mentioning a random baseball fact, and stuttering while doing it, made her heart swell up with love for him. “Uh-huh,” she said, letting her hair fall back around her shoulders, obscuring the name, before she turned around. “Do you like it?” 

He nodded jerkily, his head bobbing, before he visibly swallowed. “So . . . so that’s for me?” 

“Yep,” she said, shrugging a little and then grabbing at the shirt to keep it from slipping off her. Oliver’s eyes flared and he took two giant steps, coming to within an arm’s length of her. She tilted her head back, looking up at him. “Call it--call it a belated birthday gift,” she said softly, her whole body softening at the look in his eyes. 

“Happy birthday to me,” he said, his voice rough. And then his hands were on her hips and he was pulling her in against him as he leaned down to devour her mouth. 

XXX

There was nothing sexier than Felicity wearing his clothes. But Felicity wearing a baseball jersey that she had bought for him? That might be the sexiest thing ever. 

And the fact that the jersey said, in large white block letters, SMOAK . . . that was the icing on the cake. 

Because someday he was going to be Mr. Smoak. Just like she was going to be Mrs. Queen. 

But right now, he was going to make love to Felicity Megan Smoak while she wore a Smoak jersey. 

Felicity moaned and lifted her arms, wrapping them around his neck. He grasped her hips, rubbing the jersey against her body as he kissed her. “This was--best birthday gift ever--” he muttered against her lips. 

“Still gotta unwrap your next gift,” she said, looking up at him with bee-stung lips and dark blue eyes. 

“Fuck yes,” he said, moving his hands underneath her and lifting her up, depositing her on the kitchen table. His fingers were clumsy as he tugged at the buttons, or maybe it was because he was too busy kissing and sucking on Felicity’s neck and her whimpers were distracting him. 

Although distraction was relative, because when he finally got the damn jersey unbuttoned and saw that all she was wearing was a pair of little white lace panties, Oliver was ready to come in his pants. 

“Felicity,” he groaned, planting his hands behind her on the table and leaning in to kiss her hungrily. He rocked his hips against her, and she wrapped her legs around him and moved in time with him, kissing him back with everything she had. 

God, he loved her. 

Her hands went to his shirt, pushing it up, her fingers spreading side over his abs and pecs. Oliver pulled back from her long enough to pull his shirt over his head and fling it aside. Felicity moved to slide the jersey off, but he stopped her. “No. Keep it on.” 

Even with mussed hair and pink cheeks, her chest heaving with lust, Felicity’s smile was still wide and bright and sunny. “Knew you’d love this.” 

“Not as much as I love you,” he replied, unbuckling his belt and undoing the button on his cargo pants.

She ran her hands up and down his arms. “I love you,” she said softly. “So much.” 

Ignoring his pants, Oliver kissed her again, slowly and sweetly, letting himself sink into her, into her warmth and love and light. 

“Oliver--Oliver . . .” she whimpered, tightening her legs around him. 

Still kissing her, he shoved his pants and boxer briefs down, then reached for her panties. “Felicity, move your--”

“Just rip them,” she ordered, clutching his shoulders. 

If it was possible, his cock hardened even more and Oliver couldn’t help smirking at her. “With pleasure,” he said, a single hard yank enough to make the delicate fabric rip. 

“Soon, Oliver, soon,” she said, her own smirk wide and amused. 

Which, really, was there anything else he could do but slide into her, burying himself to the hilt?

“Ohhhh . . .” Felicity moaned, her head falling back. 

Without any thought, he attacked her neck, licking and sucking on the skin under her ear. He rolled his hips a little without pulling out, feeling her flutter around him. She was close, as close as he was, and nothing felt as good as this did . . . 

One of her hands slid into his hair, gripping the short strands as she pulled him up for a kiss. It was sloppy, their noses bumping and teeth clacking, but neither of them cared. Not when he started thrusting for real, making the table move underneath them. 

“Oliver--Oliver--” 

“Felicity . . . yes, fuck, yes--” 

Pulling back, Oliver looked at Felicity as he pounded into her. Needing to see her face, wanting to see her eyes when she came. It only took four more thrusts before he saw her eyes spark and felt her muscles grip him so, so hard. 

“Oooooooh, OLIVER!” Her voice was high-pitched and thin, trembling with the force of her climax. So much force that Oliver felt his knees weaken. 

“Felicity!” he groaned, one hand going to her back and holding her in place, his hand fisting in the jersey, as he rocked into her. His body shook as he climaxed, overwhelmed with the sensations and emotions swirling through him. 

Oliver leaned in against her, her body leaning back as his head ended up on her shoulder. “Love you, love you, love you,” he whispered, rubbing his cheek against the thick fabric of the jersey and the soft silk of her skin. 

“Mmmm . . .” she sighed, her hands running over his shoulders and back. “Happy birthday to me, too.” 

Chuckling, he kissed her collarbone, then the side of her neck, before lifting his head to look at her. “You know I’m gonna think about this every time I wear this jersey, right?” 

Felicity laughed. “It’s really comfortable. I might not let you have it after all.” 

“I don’t know whether to be upset about that or not,” Oliver said, grinning at her. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” she promised as she pulled him in for another kiss.

End.


	21. pillow talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by 4x06 Lost Souls. Rated M.

Blinking, Felicity rubbed a hand over her eyes.  The lights of Star City were dim, indicating how late it was.  But it was enough light for her to see Oliver, stretched out beside her with an arm still wrapped around her.  His eyes were closed and he was breathing slowly, indicating that her awakening hadn’t disturbed his slumber.

Which was great.  Because she definitely needed a few minutes–or a solid hour–of looking at this incredible man and feeling amazed at what she had.  

Because this–Oliver–their whole relationship?  It was just so … powerful.  Capable of making her into someone she wasn’t–someone new, a different kind of Felicity.  One who had tossed aside an amazing career for a man.  And while it hadn’t taken long for the Palmer Tech board to find her, to tell her that Ray had signed the company over to her, she had still left Starling City with Oliver without giving her job a second thought.  

Without giving anything a second thought.  

Because Oliver was choosing  _her_.  

It was overwhelming.  It felt unthinkable, that he was so much in love with her.  And she loved him just as much, so much that it took her months to come up for air.  And when she did … she couldn’t believe how deeply she had fallen for Oliver.  So deeply that she had let so much fall by the wayside.  Important things.  Like the company, like the team back in Starling City … like Ray.  

Felicity gazed at Oliver’s face, taking in how his face had changed.  Before they had gotten together, she would have thought seeing him in sleep would give her a glimpse of a content Oliver.  A man who didn’t carry the burdens of the world on his shoulders.  But now, she knew that Oliver had changed.  He had become someone different, just like she had said he had.  So his face right now wasn’t that different from his face when he was awake.  

God, he was  _everything_  to her.  And that scared the living daylights out of her.  

It wasn’t until her mother said that Felicity wasn’t like Donna that she figured it out, though.  Because she had seen her mother pin her hopes on several men, only for none of them to work out.  And each time, her mother’s heart was bruised and battered to varying extents.  And Felicity had never understood why her mother flung herself into new relationships, why she had always taken the risk.  

Felicity never let herself do that.  Not until May.  When Oliver looked at her and said he wanted her to come with him.  And she had just metaphorically flung herself into his arms and hadn’t worried about anything else.  

But then … the real world kept creeping in.  Oliver was so  _happy_ , making eggs in the slow cooker and going on his morning jogs and coming back all gorgeous and sweaty and edible.  She was only human–what woman would be able to hold out against a happy, smiling Oliver Queen?  

Felicity Megan Smoak, that’s who.  Because she went behind his back to help the team.  Because she worked herself to exhaustion trying to save Ray.  Because she thought she had to do those things without telling Oliver, because she was scared.  Scared of who she was with him, scared of how deep she was already in, scared for the people she had disappointed by going off with Oliver, scared of the things she had let slip away when she was with him … scared of what would happen if it ended.  

Because who would she be, then?  Who would she be without Oliver?  

The light stroke of his fingers down her arm made her look back at his face.  Now his eyes were open, gazing at her with warmth and contentment and so much love that her stomach dropped like she was on a roller coaster.  And she hoped she never stopped getting that stomach-dropping feeling, and that he never stopped looking at her like that–looking at her like no one had ever looked at her before.  As her mother had pointed out.  

“You are thinking very loud.  Clearly, I have failed this Felicity.”  

Oliver’s voice was soft and still a bit rough from sleep, but it sent a shiver down her spine.  But she let out a soft laugh and shifted to curl up against him.  “I woke up and I didn’t want to wake you up.  And so much has happened that … well, you know me.”  

His hand drifted up to stroke her temple.  “So much going on in here.”  

She nodded, looking at him.  “Yeah.”  

Leaning in, he brushed his lips against hers.  “I love that about you.  Your mind is always working.”  

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say she melted.  She could feel her body lose a little of its cohesion at his words, because she just wanted to get closer to him.  Sliding an arm around his neck, she deepened the kiss, savoring this moment, this closeness.  This everything.  

Slowly the kiss ended, their mouths and faces staying close to each other.  “You wanna know something?” he asked softly against her lips.  

Felicity tilted her head back just a little to look into his eyes.  “What?”

He took in a breath.  “For a moment, when you came in, I thought you might be breaking up with me.”  

“What?” she yelped, pulling back so she could really look at him.  “You thought–?”

Nodding, a lopsided smile on his face, Oliver shrugged his shoulders.  “You said ‘I think we should–’ and then you paused.  So I had that split-second fear that this was it.  That you had decided you didn’t like who you were with me and it was time for all of this to end.”  

Hearing him say the words–hearing him sound so calm and accepting of letting her utterly destroy him–it made Felicity see red.  The next thing she knew, Oliver was on his back, she was straddling him, and his face was cupped in her hands.

“You listen to me, Oliver Queen,” Felicity said quickly.  “There is no way I’m breaking up with you.  I am crazy in love with you, and everything I told you, about you opening my heart and changing my life?  None of that has stopped being true.  And it’s not gonna stop being true anytime ever.  So no thinking I’m going to dump you, okay?”  

She knew that he was listening to her, that he was hearing her.  So there was no need to let him reply.  Not when they could be kissing.  So as soon as she was done talking, Felicity swooped down and covered his mouth with her own. 

And Oliver, thank God, realized that kissing was a lot more important than talking right now.  Because he immediately responded to her kiss.  And then he was rolling them over, pressing her down against the mattress, his warm, strong body covering hers and making her feel like a million sparklers were going off under her skin.  

“Mmmmm …” she moaned against his lips as he rocked against her.  “Oliver …”  

“Need you,” he rasped out, his voice low and growly and yes, she was totally on the same page as he was.  Because the last thirty-six hours had been scary and sad and exhausting, and the idea of being lost in Oliver for a little while sounded like the best thing ever.  

Because she wasn’t losing herself in him.  She was finding him, just like he was finding her, and it was … it was perfect.  

They were in this together, after all.  

Oliver’s hands were running over her sides, squeezing her hips and then slipping underneath her to cup her ass and tilt her pelvis up and  _ooooooh_.  She gripped his shoulders and rocked against him, her face split with a wide happy grin when he groaned right in her ear.  

“I love you,” she whispered, needing to say the words.  Needing him to know how she felt.  

“I love you, too,” he replied, smiling at her before he pressed kisses along her jaw.  When he reached her ear, he said, “And I need to be inside you now.”  

“Yesssss,” she hissed, wiggling against him.  Oliver let out a choked groan, then pressed his hips forward, sliding into her.  

Felicity held on to him tightly, with both arms and legs.  This moment, when he first entered her–nothing compared to it.  Especially tonight, when she had opened herself up to him, despite her fears, and found that compared to the idea of Oliver thinking she wanted to break up … well, her insecurities didn’t seem quite so scary anymore.  

“Felicity,” Oliver breathed out, making her name special just like he always did.  She opened her eyes and gazed up at him, giving him a small smile. He smiled back, resting his forehead against hers, and then started to move.  Long, slow, smooth strokes, filling her up every time, making her body feel as full as her heart was.  Although honestly, her heart was just overflowing with emotions right now, but they were all centered on Oliver.  On just how much she loved this man, on how she would never love anyone else like she loved him …

On wanting to never hear that he thought she didn’t want him anymore.  

So with her body, Felicity did her best to reassure him.  She held him tighter, kissed him longer, squeezed him harder.  She poured herself into making love with Oliver Queen, using everything she had.  And when they climaxed together, like something out of a romance novel that she had most certainly never read during finals week to take her mind off a major coding assignment, Felicity knew.  

She knew that things had changed between them tonight.  That their relationship was becoming incredibly serious and fully committed.  And … and that didn’t make her want to wiggle away as much as it used to.  No … now, she liked it.  Her mind still skirted away from what a future with Oliver might hold–but it was doing it slower than before.  Giving her a few moments to imagine what it would be like.  To have no doubts about Oliver’s place in her life and hers in his.  To have a bond that would be recognized in a court of law. 

To walk towards him while wearing a white dress.  

And that was enough of that, Felicity thought to herself.  She had plenty of time to think about the future, plenty of time to get used to the idea.  Right now, she had an afterglow to enjoy and an incredibly cuddly, gorgeous boyfriend to share it with.  

So Felicity curled in against Oliver and let herself drift off on a cloud of happiness and contentment.  A cloud that she shared with the love of her life.

End.


	22. love actually

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a conversation with andcreation.

Pulling up to the White House–to his new home–Oliver Queen, the forty-eighth president of the United States, tried to soothe his nerves. But his thumb and forefinger kept rubbing together. It was his one nervous tic, one he hadn’t been able to eradicate. 

“Nervous, sir?” asked John Diggle, the first Secret Service agent he had been assigned and the one he trusted the most.

“What do you think, Digg?”

A soft chuckle escaped the agent. “You’re hiding it very well, sir.” 

Oliver couldn’t help huffing out a laugh as the car pulled in under the South Portico. “Nice to see you lie about as well as you shoot.” 

“You wouldn’t want me to lie better than I shoot, would you?” Diggle asked before stepping out of the car.

When Oliver stepped out of the car, waving to the photographers, there was a smile on his face. One that would be described as “the charming grin of America’s new president, only the second bachelor to hold the highest office in the land.”

But then it was a whirl of introductions and that charming grin faded, as the duties and responsibilities piled onto his shoulders. 

Reaching the Oval Office, he felt slightly relieved to see Laurel, his childhood friend and one of his campaign managers who would now be deputy chief of staff. “How are you holding up?” she asked, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. 

“Okay,” he said, rolling his shoulders and noticing the three people waiting in the office. 

“Great, just a few more introductions,” Laurel said briskly. “This is Walter Steele, the head of the White House personnel.” 

Oliver nodded and shook Mr. Steele’s hand, already acquainted with him from their conversations during the transition.

“And this is Roy Harper, your body man,” Laurel said, her voice holding a note of warning. A tone that told Oliver to be nice.

Eyeing the young man in front of him, Oliver wasn’t so sure about him, but he had to give the kid credit: he had a good handshake.

“Last but not least, Felicity Smoak, your secretary.”

“Administrative assistant, please,” the bespectacled blonde corrected Laurel. “I mean, you can call me whatever you like, sir, of course, I just–as a matter of respect, I prefer administrative assistant, and you made such a point during your campaign, and in the second debate especially, about the need for Americans to honor all forms of work, I hope you don’t mind this request.”

Listening to all that, Oliver couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. This Felicity … she was different from anyone he had encountered. And considering how many people he had met in the last two years, that meant she was truly extraordinary. 

Mistaking his silence for disdain, Felicity’s cheeks flamed pink and she winced. “I talk too much. I should have known I’d screw up on my first day.”

“Well, at least you didn’t say anything inherently embarrassing,” Oliver offered.

She nodded, looking a bit miserable. “I was totally prepared to blurt out something about your ass.” 

No sooner had the words left her mouth than her hands were flying up to cover her lips, an expression of absolute mortification on her face.

“Hey,” Oliver said quickly, stepping forward and cupping her elbow. “It wouldn’t be anything I haven’t already heard. I mean, my sister likes to troll the websites that talk about that kind of stuff.”

“And so do I,” Laurel said, a small grin on her face. 

Shooting his first girlfriend a look, Oliver turned back to Felicity and smiled at her. “Okay? It’s okay.” 

Felicity gazed at him, her eyes big and blue behind her glasses. Then, slowly, she nodded, and gave him a sheepish, embarrassed smile. 

A beautiful smile.

_What_?

Forcing his hand to drop from her elbow, Oliver did his best to regain his “I’m the President of the United States” air. He gave her a friendly yet authoritative smile, then turned to Laurel to go over what was next. 

Yet no matter how many times he told himself not to, his eyes flicked over towards Felicity a few times too many.

XXX

The visit of the British Prime Minister was the first test of Oliver’s administration. Malcolm Merlyn had a decade and a half more experience in politics, and a knack for getting what he wanted in negotiations. 

He also had a wandering eye and an inherent knack for getting on Oliver’s nerves.

Although that perhaps could be because his eyes kept wandering to Felicity. 

Oliver didn’t like that. But he couldn’t say anything. Not when he was struggling so hard to appear strong, when inside he just felt … vulnerable. 

It was after the state dinner, and just the two of them had retired to the Mural Room with their Scotches. The conversation had been full of moves and countermoves, couched in extreme politeness. 

“I’m glad you mentioned that,” Oliver said, when Malcolm brought up international cooperation in sports. “This is something I feel strongly about–I have some information in my office I want to pass along to you.” 

Standing up, Oliver headed towards the Oval, passing Felicity in the hall and giving her a small wave. Her hands were full with a tray of cookies, so she just gave him a shy, happy smile back before heading into the Mural Room. 

What was he doing, waving at her? He was a grown man and the leader of the free world … yet for some reason, he thought that didn’t really matter to Felicity. Because she hadn’t hesitated to tell him what she thought, especially when she thought he was doing the wrong thing.

With a shake of his head, he grabbed the International Olympic Committee’s newest report and carried it back to the Mural Room. Since it was the holiday season, the room was decorated with greenery and red bows … and a sprig of mistletoe in the corner. Oliver had felt hyper-aware of the plant whenever he was in the Mural Room with Felicity. Watching to see if she came to a stop underneath it.

After days of watching her, his heart leapt when he stepped into the room and saw that she was finally under the mistletoe. But then it plunged to his stomach when he realized she was there with Malcolm, who was pressing his lips to her cheek. 

Felicity looked rigid, tense. And when her eyes fell on his, she went so still that she could have been a statue.

The Prime Minister must have sensed the change in her, because he pulled back and looked over his shoulder. “Ah, you’re back. Your assistant got caught under the mistletoe, as you see.” 

“If you’ll excuse me, sirs,” Felicity said quickly, striding out of the room.

Oliver watched her go, then slowly turned back to Malcolm, who had a bland expression on his face. “Skittish little thing, isn’t she?” he asked, a trace of his native Scottish accent slipping through.

It was all Oliver could do not to punch him in the face.

Unfortunately, presidents couldn’t punch prime ministers. Not physically. Oliver had to content himself with metaphorically laying into the representative of America’s special friendship.

But it didn’t keep Felicity as his assistant. She quit the day before Christmas.

XXX

Christmas Eve was about to turn into Christmas Day, and President Oliver Queen was in the heart of Georgetown, looking for Felicity Smoak. 

All he knew was that she lived on Wisconsin Avenue … but Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown covered several blocks. And yes, he could call the IRS to find out where she lived, but … but that felt wrong. 

So he started knocking on doors along one side of the street.

There were a lot of confused or excited looks. There was an unfortunate carol singing incident, although realizing that Digg had a major set of pipes on him might be handy to know for the future. And there were photos and autographs galore.

And then, on the twelfth door, a pouty redhead told them that Felicity lived in apartment G. 

With a hand that had theoretically pressed much more important buttons–not that he could think of any–Oliver rang the bell for apartment G.

The door opened, revealing a very different Felicity than he was used to. Her hair was loose and wavy around her shoulders. She was wearing a purple tank top and a pair of pajama pants with little dolls on them. 

She was absolutely beautiful. And Oliver knew that no matter how ridiculous this whole plan had been, it was worth it.

Her slow blinks were the only sign that she hadn’t frozen on the spot.

“Felicity, you want the last samosa–” asked Laurel, coming to the door, followed by Roy. 

His employees both stared at Oliver, and then immediately vanished back into the apartment–but not before Laurel had pushed Felicity out into the hall and closed the door behind her. 

“Laurel!” Felicity yelped, turning the knob without anything happening. Oliver watched as she let her head thump lightly against the door, then she turned around, a smile pasted on her face. “Laurel–she locked me out.” 

At that moment, Oliver didn’t care. He just … he had something to give her.

“Here,” he said, his voice thick, holding out a silver envelope.

She looked adorably confused, a wrinkle between her eyes that he wanted to kiss away. But that would have to wait until after she read the card.

Oliver watched as she drew out the blue and silver Hanukkah card. Watched as she read the front of the card and then opened it, her eyes scanning his note. 

And then they went very, very wide and he knew she knew.

Her eyes leaped up to his. “Really?” 

That same smile, the one he had worn on the day they met, tugged up his lips as he nodded. “Really. I love you.” 

For a long, eternal moment, she gazed at him. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. And then, she was in his arms and her lips were against his and they were kissing and–

And Oliver finally felt like the most powerful man on the earth.

Although he was sure that Felicity would knock him down a few pegs the next time he was wrong. Every time he was wrong, in fact.

Which was good. It was one of the things he loved most about her.

End.


	23. so strong and handsome built

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little ficlet came about from conversations I had with andcreation and acheaptrickandacheesyoneline after I showed them [that video of Stephen Amell in a kilt](http://dettiot.tumblr.com/post/140608790942/i-just-killed-andcreation-and). So this is for them. :-)
> 
> Title is from the song [The Scotsman](http://www.lyricsfreak.com/a/arrogant+worms/the+scotsman_20646328.html). Rated M.

The thing is, Felicity knew she talked a lot.  If she didn’t know that, she would be really lacking in self-awareness.  And while she had her blind spots like anyone else, she thought that on the whole, she knew who she was–her strengths, her weaknesses, her quirks, her pet peeves.  

So Felicity knew she talked a lot.  So she didn’t expect anyone to listen to every single thing she said.  There were times even _she_ didn’t listen to herself.  There were just times that words came out of her mouth, when she was trying to figure something out or just had too many thoughts to keep everything in her head.

But she should have known that Oliver listened to everything.  That was just who he was.  He noticed everything about her, worked to make her dreams come true–even the silliest, strangest ones.  

Like a few nights ago, when she had been channel surfing and landed on _Outlander_.  Curtis and Paul were big fans of the show and had been talking about it the last time she had lunch with them, so Felicity was curious.  

“I don’t know why Curtis and Paul like this show,” she had commented idly to Oliver, lifting another spoonful of mint chip ice cream to her mouth.  

Her husband, going through a stack of paperwork, gave her a small smile.  “Maybe they’re just really big fans of Scottish history.  Or time travel.  That’s what it’s about, right?”

“So I’ve heard,” Felicity said through a mouthful of ice cream.

And then the male lead, who she recognized from various articles on different entertainment websites, appeared on screen.  In a kilt.  And Felicity sat up straight.

“Okay, now I know why Curtis and Paul like this show.  Wow,” Felicity said, eyeing the guy–his name was Jamie?–talking to the girl he was so clearly head-over-heels for.  But she didn’t pay any attention to the dialogue.  She was savoring the kilt.  

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Oliver glance at the screen.  “What, the kilt?”

Felicity nodded.  “Yep.  That is something else.  I’d never really considered the appeal of a kilt.  I mean, it makes sense, though.  It’s long enough to cover what matters but short enough to make you wonder.”  

“Wonder?  Wonder what?” Oliver said.  

“Just … wonder,” Felicity replied, leaning into his side and taking another bite of ice cream.

It was just talking.  She wasn’t trying to drop a hint to Oliver or inspire him.  

But never had she been so grateful that he listened to everything she said.

Because today had been a really long, really hard day.  There had been a meeting of the Board of Directors, who were more focused on the bottom line and profits than anything else.  Then she had to appear at a press conference, responding to Wall Street’s worries about the way Palmer Tech was growing too rapidly.  And worse of all, she then had a meeting with Applied Sciences, when she had to tell Curtis and his team that they had to scrap their work on Curtis’s newest pet project.  

So today had just been awful.  When she got home, all she wanted to do was to take off her heels, snuggle with Oliver for a solid thirty minutes to two hours, and then order pizza and drink wine.  

She had just gotten inside the door and kicked off her heels, letting out a huge sigh of relief, then looked around to see if Oliver was already home.  And then, from behind her, she heard a throat being cleared, and Oliver saying softly, “Hey.”

Just the sound of his voice made her smile and made her shoulders unknot.  “Hey, yourself,” she said as she turned around.  But then, when she saw Oliver, her mouth fell open and her eyes went wide.

Oliver–her Oliver, her husband, the love of her life–was standing in front of her.  Wearing a kilt.  And nothing else.  

This–this was–God, he was so amazingly gorgeous.  His shoulders were so broad, his chest and arms packed with muscles, his abs tight and still not memorized by her, even though she had a really big brain and had spent plenty of time tracing them with her tongue.  And then there was the kilt.  The fabric was wrapped around his narrow waist, a leather belt holding the kilt in place.  It fell to just above his knees–Oliver had really sexy knees, in spite of the injuries he had suffered–and showing off his ridiculously toned calves.  

Really, Oliver was always a walking sex god.  But … in a kilt?  It _worked_ for him.

While she had been gawking at him, Oliver stood still in front of her, smiling a little.  He looked a little nervous, but more than that, he looked happy.  Happy that he was doing this for her.  And that made her tongue finally become unstuck.

“Oh my God, Oliver.”  She took a step towards him.  “What made you think to do this?”

He shrugged one shoulder, his smile widening.  “I might have had a hard day, and I might have heard you did, too, so I thought we should spend tonight on just us.  No distractions.  So …”  He gestured to the kilt.  “What do you think?  Long enough to cover what matters, short enough to make you wonder?”

Giggling at him quoting her, she shook her head.  “I can’t believe you actually listened to me,” Felicity said, moving closer to him, her eyes roaming over him.  “And that you did all this.”  

“It wasn’t that hard,” Oliver said, resting his hands on her hips once she was in arm’s reach.  “Just took a little research online.”  

“Awww, you did computer stuff without me!” Felicity cooed, beaming at him.  She lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck.  “I’ll turn you into a computer nerd yet.”  

Oliver brushed his nose against hers.  “I’m more interested in telling you something I learned.  Did you know that traditionally, men wore nothing under a kilt?”

“God, I’m so overdressed,” Felicity groaned, her eyes dropping down to look at the front of the kilt.  

“Easy to fix,” Oliver said, just before he covered her mouth with his own.  

It was so different, to press up against Oliver and have him be covered yet not with pants.  Sure, there had been plenty of times she had kissed Oliver while he was just wearing a towel, but towels were made out of thick terrycloth, not thin wool.  It was easy to feel his warmth, feel his body, through the material of the kilt and her dress.  

It was really hot.  

Felicity kept one arm around Oliver’s neck, pulling him down and keeping his lips pressed against hers.  She slid one hand down his chest, skittering over his pec, his nipple, and down his abs.  Then she reached down and fisted a handful of his kilt, starting to pull it up.  

He groaned against her mouth and dropped his hands down, cupping her ass and lifting her up.  She yanked her mouth away and gasped “Yes!” as he carried her to the kitchen table.  Letting go of the kilt, she started yanking at the narrow skirt of her dress, pulling it up so she could wrap her legs around his hips.  

As soon as he set her down on the table, Oliver kissed her again, his hands helping her with her skirt, then yanking off her panties.  

“God, Oliver, this is so hot,” she panted, grinning at him.  

Oliver nodded, grinning back before he kissed her.  His hands fumbled with the zipper of her dress.  “Need you naked,” he muttered against her mouth.

“And you need to keep the kilt on,” she said, using both hands to pull it up.  Scrabbling past all the fabric and reaching underneath to wrap one hand around his bare, hard cock.  

“So you went with tradition,” Felicity purred, stroking him slowly.  Oliver breathed hard, his eyes wide and blue and locked on hers as he nodded.  

“Get me naked, Oliver,” she begged, using her free hand to yank her dress down.  That spurred on Oliver, and soon he had gotten her dress and bra off, leaving her completely bare.  The wool of the kilt was slightly scratchy against her thighs, but Felicity didn’t care.  She didn’t care about anything but showing her husband just how much she loved him.  

When he slid into her, Felicity groaned and let her head fall back.  She stared up at the ceiling, taking a moment to prepare, and then she moved her gaze to meet his.  

Oliver’s eyes were burning with passion and love and desire.  She trembled, bringing one hand up to stroke his cheek.  “I love you,” she breathed out, unable to look at anything but his face.  

“I love you,” he replied softly, turning his head to kiss her palm.  And then he started moving, in slow, steady thrusts.  Going so deep, filling her up, making her feel so much …

Felicity let her eyes drop down, to watch how the wool of the kilt hid him from her.  But there was something sexy about this moment, about having such easy access to him, about feeling the fabric against her thighs, pressing it against his ass with her calves …

“Yes,” she stuttered when he started moving faster.  “Oliver–yes, God, I love you, I love you so much–my husband, mine …”

“All yours,” he grunted softly, using the arm banded around her to lay her back more on the table, changing the angle, making it better, making them both cry out.  

“Ohhhhhhhhhh,” she whimpered, tensing her muscles around him.  Needing him so much, needing him deeper–

And then, like the sex ninja/mind reader that he was, Oliver thrust in deep and hard, hitting right where she needed him, and she was coming with a gasp.  She could feel herself clamping down on him and felt him shudder.  As her climax was fading, she felt him come and Felicity closed her eyes.  

Maybe this was the time that finally, everything would be right and it was the start of their biggest, best partnership yet.  The partnership that would change things from the two of them to the three of us.  

Oliver slumped against her, bracing himself with a hand on the table, as they both slowly came back to themselves.  Felicity let her hands roam slowly over his shoulders and back, keeping her thoughts to himself.  But kind of hoping that this was it.  

And if it was, she knew she would probably suggest Jamie or Claire as names for the baby.  

End.


	24. night and day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 5x09. All the fault of acheaptrickandacheesyoneline. Written after the midseason finale and a bottle of wine, so please forgive any typos/canon errors/overall weirdness. Completely unbetaed. Rated M.

It was raining.  Because of course it was--it was Star City.  It knew when things were bad and decided, “Let’s make it worse by having it rain like a faucet had just opened up and you don’t have an umbrella!”

Felicity dashed from her car into Oliver’s old campaign office.  Her pajama pants seemed to soak up the puddles from the ground as she dashed to the door, the hand she held over her head doing nothing to keep her dry.  By the time she had gotten inside, she felt damp all over.

Which made sense.  She had been crying even before she had left the loft.  

Crying even before she got there, really.  She had started crying when she was in the lair, when Oliver had told her--

Swallowing, Felicity jabbed the button for the elevator.  She just . . . she didn’t know what to think.  How to feel.  She had to keep saying the words to herself.

Billy had passed away.  He was gone.  He was dead.  And Oliver had done it.  But it was Prometheus’s fault.  Or was it hers?  She had known about the connection between Prometheus and Claybourne and hadn’t told Billy--had let him find it out on his own, sparking a fight between them, leading him to walk out on her . . . 

After saying he had to be himself.  

No.  No no no no no.  She was not going to think about Oliver right now.  All her thoughts should be about Billy, the man she had just introduced to her friends, the man she had just started calling her boyfriend, the man she hadn’t been able to say she loved . . . 

At least in the lair, she could do . . . something.  Do diagnostics on the servers, clean the DNA machine, something.  Anything other than sitting on the couch, the couch she had sat on with Billy ( _ and Oliver _ , her mind traitorously reminded her) and crying about what had happened.  

About another man leaving her.  Not necessarily because he wanted to, but he still had.

Rubbing a hand over her eyes, Felicity stepped out of the elevator into the lair, taking a deep breath.  It was so quiet and still . . . just what she needed.  

Then she stepped onto the platform, around her computers, and she saw a figure across the room, sitting hunched over in a chair.  

And she knew it was Oliver.  Because where else would he be but here?  

Slowly, her flats slapping against the floor, Felicity walked over towards the conference table.  “So . . . did you go home at all?”  

Oliver didn’t startle.  He wasn’t surprised she was here.  Which kinda annoyed her.  It was like they were the same, but they weren’t.  Not really.  They were very different!

“I left and then . . . I didn’t know where to go.”  

His quiet words made all her annoyance vanish.  Because she didn’t even know where Oliver was living right now.  Anything to do with Oliver that didn’t involve the Green Arrow, she hadn’t really . . . paid any attention to.  Even as she lived in the loft he had lived in first, the loft they had shared, she had focused on keeping the different parts of her life separate.  There were her days with Billy, seeing him before and after work as their schedules permitted, and then there were her nights with Oliver, prodding him to form a team, make it work, and use the new team to protect Star City.

But now, her days and her nights had collided, and her night had killed her day, even though he didn’t mean to, even though he had come right to her and told her what he had done . . . and here she was, in the lair, with the man who represented her nights, when the man who had been her days would never see another sunrise.

“Felicity?  Felicity!”  

Oliver’s voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a tunnel, all quiet and echoing.  She looked up at him, suddenly realizing she was in a chair.  “Oliver?”

“You looked like you were going to faint.  Put your head between your knees,” he said, his hand gentle yet firm on her back, pushing her shoulders down so her head was below her heart.  

_ I’d rather your head was between my knees. _

Felicity did a double take and looked at Oliver, to make sure she hadn’t said that.  But Oliver was going over to his island trunk, making no sign that she had said anything, so she let her head fall and wonder what the hell had gotten into her.  

That was the last thing she should be thinking about right now!  

Her ex-fiance had just accidentally killed her boyfriend.  So why was she thinking about her ex-fiance giving her head?  

_ You are a mess, Smoak _ , that voice in her head said.  A voice she was in complete agreement with.

There were a few clinks, sounding like glass on glass, and then Oliver said quietly, “Here.”  

Looking up, Felicity saw a glass filled with clear liquid.  Two glasses.  And she was pretty sure it wasn’t water.  

Her hand trembled a little as she reached out and took it.  “I . . . I really don’t blame you.”  She took a healthy swallow, feeling her throat burn from the vodka.  Oliver’s awful Russian vodka, the stuff that even John said was barely drinkable.  But tonight, she liked the burn.  

Oliver had gone still.  Then he slowly sank into a chair, looking so much older than his thirty-one years.  “You don’t?”  His voice, by contrast, made her think of a little boy asking if Santa was real.  So disbelieving and uncertain.  And why was she thinking about Santa when she was Jewish?  

Shaking her head vigorously, Felicity then put a hand to her aching head.  “No.  It’s Prometheus.  And me.”  

The wrinkled forehead and the frown on his face had eased a little when she had started speaking, but as soon as she ascribed the blame to herself, Oliver doubled down on his frowny face.  “What?”

“It’s my fault,” Felicity said, swirling the vodka in her glass.  “Billy was upset with me, when he found out I already knew about the link between Prometheus and Claybourne . . . he told me he had to be true to himself, by being a cop.  He wouldn’t let you, the Green Arrow, handle it.  No, he had to get involved.  And it got him killed.  I should have--I should have done more, I should have made him stay home--”

He was shaking his head.  “No, Felicity--Billy was a police officer.  He was going to get involved.  No matter what you did.  It’s not your fault.”  

“I asked him to not, for me, and he still went ahead and did it,” Felicity said, not caring if she was crying, if the words were garbled between her tears.  “He left, just like every--” 

She choked back the words, because telling Oliver that every other man in her life had left felt wrong and too vulnerable.  And kind of not honest, because . . . Oliver hadn’t really left, had he?  He was still here, taking care of her, trying to help even though he must think she was blaming him deep down, because he had been the one to kill Billy.  But not really.  It had been Prometheus, with his cruel games, the desire to destroy Oliver, that had really killed Billy.  

Oliver was no different than Thea, manipulated into taking someone’s life, taking the life of a person they would never want to kill.  

“Like every other who?”

Trust Oliver to have picked up on that, Felicity thought as she sniffed, trying to hold back her tears.  She looked at him, taking in those hunched shoulders, the sad eyes, and she just had to tell him.  

“Like every other man in my life.  But . . . that’s not true.  Because you’re here, aren’t you?  You’re still here.  Still loving me, even with me moving on and me pushing you and prodding you and acting like you’re only the Green Arrow, when you’re still worrying about me and wanting the best for me and--”  

Felicity was crying too hard to keep talking, which was one of the few occasions she couldn’t talk, really.  But this just . . . she just hurt too much.  She had truly cared about Billy.  Maybe she had loved him--she wasn’t sure.  Yet she wouldn’t ever have the time to know for sure if she loved him.  Because he was dead.  

And maybe because her ex-fiance was here, holding her as she cried, and he was the reason she didn’t know if she loved her boyfriend.  

He still smelled the same.  He still felt the same.  She wrapped her arms around his neck, crying against his neck, and distantly heard Oliver murmuring softly.  His hands rubbed her back, trying to soothe her, comfort her, but . . . it wasn’t enough.  

Lifting her head, Felicity tilted so she could press her lips against Oliver’s.  And . . . oh.  

She could feel him not wanting to respond.  He didn’t want to give in.  Probably because he knew this was a kiss born out of the wrong reasons, out of grief and sadness instead of love and desire.  

That was where Oliver was wrong.  Because she still loved him, even after everything that had happened between them.  Up until now, even with dating Billy, she had thought it was a sign of weakness in her.  An indication that she was wrong.  But now, she was starting to think that everything since she had walked away from Oliver was the weakness.  That if she had just stayed and talked things over with him, maybe she could have spared herself this heartbreak.

And Billy was dead and would never know that his girlfriend that he loved would never really love him back, because she was still in love with her ex-fiance, and Billy might still be alive if he had never crossed her path.  

Maybe it wasn’t just Oliver who should push away everyone in his life.  Maybe the only way to be safe was to be with Oliver, no matter what might happen, because anyone else might die.  

But even as she kissed Oliver, Felicity knew those maybes weren’t right.  Because Oliver didn’t doom everyone he knew, and neither did she.  

What was right were the truths she knew.  She still loved Oliver.  He still loved her.  And they were both still alive.  

"Oliver,” she moaned against his mouth, begging him to respond.  For him to understand that she needed this.  That she needed him, in a way beyond soft words and gently strokes of her back.  No, she needed his body, his soul, his love.  She needed to know she was alive, that love wasn’t a death sentence, that not everything in her life was a disaster.  

For once, for one night, she needed to have a reason to hope, to believe, to live.  And the only person who could give her that was the man who was her night.  

She gripped his shirt in his hands, doing everything she could to tell him that, but of course, Oliver figured it out.  Because his lips started moving against hers, his hands went to her hips and pulled her out of her chair and into his lap, and she had to moan because . . . Oliver was kissing her back.  

He still kissed the same.  She had wondered, after seeing him with Susan--how fast had they moved?  Had he kissed her and would it make him be different?  But he was still Oliver to her.  The same soft lips, the same taste and warmth, the same everything.  He had just barely started to consider other women, when she had nearly immediately jumped into a new relationship.  See, that was how they were different!  

Why was she thinking about that when Oliver was kissing her, holding her in his lap, clearly eager for more if what was going on underneath her was anything to judge by?  

Felicity gave herself over to the kiss.  To touching Oliver, to remembering she was alive, and that her life wasn’t a mess.  She ran her hands through Oliver’s bristly hair--it was a little too short for her liking--and his broad, strong shoulders.  He was still so warm, making her feel less alone, less lonely.  

“Felicity,” he moaned, just like so many other times before, and she had to choke back a sob, because it was just like old times.  She wanted it to be like old times.  

“Oliver,” she said, wiggling and getting her feet under her.  “Please--” she asked, no, begged, as she moved off his lap and sat on the conference table, wondering why today, of all days, she had worn pants instead of a dress or a skirt.  She pushed at her stretch pants, needing them off for what she wanted--for what he knew she wanted.   

Slowly, he stood up, looking down at her.  His lips were red and slightly swollen, his eyes dark, his hair disheveled.  His shirt was half-unbuttoned.  Had she done that?  Felicity wasn’t sure--and she wasn’t sure if she even cared how, because God, Oliver was just so beautiful, and she still loved him, and she still wanted him, and . . . and she needed him.  Right now, despite everything else that had happened, all the ways she hadn’t treated him right ever since they had broken up . . . she  _ needed  _ him.

Earlier tonight--it had been earlier tonight, right?--she had told Oliver to pull back because it wasn’t safe.  She should be telling him that now.  Because she wasn’t safe now.  Yet Felicity wondered if maybe, just maybe, it didn’t matter.  Because she needed him too much to think about right and wrong at this moment.  

“Oliver, please,” she said, not caring just how wanton she was by pushing her leggings and panties off and spreading her legs.  

When she was in her right mind, she would make it up to him, she knew.  She would tell him that she had never stopped loving him, that she wanted to start over, that they were going to really work through all this.  

But for now . . . all she could do was ask Oliver for sex.  And hope that it would be enough for now, until she was able to tell him all of the things she had buried deep down so she wouldn’t think about.  

Tonight was about feelings, though.

Oliver stepped close to her.  He knew her so well, he knew enough to not ask her if she was sure.  Instead, he just lowered his head and kissed her, slowly, deeply, so perfectly that she had to close her eyes and give herself over to him.

To Oliver.  Who was kissing his way down to her center.  

“Yes--oh, God, yes--Oliver!”  

It was even better than she remembered.  And Felicity hadn’t been able to forget how good Oliver was at this--at whipping her into a frenzy, at knowing just what to do to her to set her on fire.  

His breath was hot against her folds, and his tongue was even hotter against her clit.  Felicity let herself fall back against the table, her hands sinking into his hair to hold him in place.  But she knew Oliver wasn’t going anywhere.  That he was exactly where he wanted to be, where he had wanted to be since she had walked out of his life.  

“Oh, yes,” she whimpered as he swirled his tongue inside her as his thumb rubbed over her clit, back and forth, in the perfect rhythm, and she was so close so fast, and she didn’t want this to end, it only happened this fast with Oliver--

“Oliver!” she gasped as she climaxed, brought to the brink and then tipped over, the rush of sensation so overpowering that she wasn’t sure if she would be able to remember exactly what had happened, when she so wanted to remember.  Who knew when this might happen again?  There was just so much to be figured out first, she knew Oliver, she knew he would want to wait until they were good before doing this again, but . . . she didn’t know when they would be able to be good again.  And she needed more.  

God, she was so selfish, so greedy.  How could anyone love her?  Felicity didn’t know.  But right now, Oliver loved her, and it made her brave, made her happy, made her whole.  Just as long as he would fill up all the empty parts inside her, push away all the sadness and guilt, let her be with someone who would never judge her, never blame her, never think the worst of her.  

As soon as she came back to herself, Felicity pushed herself up and reached for Oliver.  And the wonderfully stupid man came into her arms, letting her wrap herself around him, holding her just as tightly as she held him.  

“You deserve better,” she whispered against his neck.  “Better than me.”  

He stiffened a little, and Felicity braced herself for him to pull away.  To tell her to clean herself up, to get some self-respect, to think of the mission.  But he didn’t pull out of her arms.  He stayed.  And he turned his head and whispered in her ear, “I deserve what I want.  And I want you.  Always, Felicity.”  

It was all she could do to hold back the tears.  To tell him that he should run from her, find someone better.  But she was weak, and so was he, and . . . tonight, it was about being weak together.  

“Oliver,” she breathed out, bringing her legs up around his hips, pulling him closer.  He stepped forward, letting her wrap her legs around his waist.  “Oliver, now.”  

One of her hands ran down his chest and fumbled with his pants, getting them open, freeing him.  Oh, this wasn’t how she wanted it to be.  She wanted a bed, the two of them naked, no barriers between them, nothing holding them back.  This wasn’t that.  But . . . maybe any first step was better than none?  And tonight was a first step, Felicity couldn’t fool herself.  What’s more, she knew Oliver wouldn't let her off the hook so easily this time.  No, he would not let her keep lying to him, to herself.  

It was one of a thousand reasons why she loved him.  

He was just as warm and thick and long in her hand as before.  She couldn't wait to have him inside her, to fill her up and make her forget, but Oliver had other ideas.  

Cupping her face in his hands, he looked at her.  “I love you, Felicity.  Nothing will ever change that.”  He paused, looking shy and vulnerable.  “I--I hope you remember that after tonight.”  

Before she could say anything, he kissed her, sliding into her at the same time.  She gasped and clutched at him, even as her body remembered everything about his.  But it didn’t matter what she remembered--all that mattered was not being alone, knowing she was alive, knowing she was loved, in spite of what a horrible person she was.  

“Ohhhhh . . . Oliver . . .” she whimpered as Oliver thrusted, so thick and broad, filling her up just right, better than anyone else, including Billy . . . 

"Felicity--God, baby,” he panted, which wasn’t like Oliver.  He didn’t talk when they made love--but was this love?  

And as she looked at his face, as he moved his hips and moved inside her, Felicity knew.  

It was love.  And nothing would change that.

She couldn’t give over to that, to him, just yet.  She knew she needed to mourn Billy.  She needed to deal with what had happened between her and Oliver before.  She had to get herself in order first.  But when she did . . . Oliver would be waiting.  She knew that, even as that reporter lurked in the wings, waiting for her chance.  

Because if there was one thing Felicity Smoak knew, it was Oliver Queen.  And he wouldn’t say he loved her, he wouldn’t be here with her like this, if he didn’t mean it.  

Soon, she would mean it, too.  And she would make it up to him, for letting her use him like this.  She would be safe, able to love Oliver like he deserved, and everything would be better.  Safe.  Perfect.  

Until then . . . they could be real together for tonight.  

“Oh--oh--Oliver!” she hissed, the feel of him sweeping her away, making her forget everything.  Letting her feel, letting her be something other than sad.  

And someday, she would be able to be the Felicity she wanted to be, a better Felicity.  A Felicity who would be confident in who she was, who wouldn’t stumble over introducing her boyfriend to other people.  

Someday, she could be at a party and say, with no embarrassment or awkwardness, “Hi, I’m Felicity.  And this is my husband, Oliver.”  

At the very moment she had that though, Oliver hit  _ that  _ spot, the good spot, the spot he knew was just what she needed, and Felicity fell to pieces around him, clutching at him and whimpering, even while she made plans for the future.  

Because with her mind, she could multi-task.

End.

 


	25. bitches get stuff done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-5x12, in some hazy part of the future.

Dinah had worked in teams and with partners.  She had worked with women before, too.  And speaking not just about herself, female cops?  They were the ones with the reputation.  The ones that everyone, from low-level toughs to big bads, knew not to mess with.  

But she was still pretty shocked to realize that tonight, she was here to be the buffer.  To play the good cop.  Because who would think the girly-pretty blonde tech genius and the brunette former party girl/current mayoral chief of staff would be playing so close to the edge?

Maybe it had something to do with the fourth woman, the woman they were here to deal with tonight.  The woman currently zip-tied to a chair in the middle of this dingy, cold warehouse.  

This was not how Dinah expected her night to go.  Her plans had been simple:  go to the lair with her dinner of extra-spicy dan dan noodles, put in some more work on controlling her cry, and then do some kickboxing.  A good Friday night, really.  Part of her new routine--a good routine, really.  One that made her feel grateful to Oliver for persisting with her, even when she also wanted to knock him upside his head for all the brooding.  

Still, he was a good man and she was grateful, and she was finding the whole ‘having a routine’ thing pretty appealing.  So she was really surprised when she stepped into the lair to see Felicity there.

Well, not really surprised, as if she hadn’t expected to see Felicity here.  Understandably, Felicity was around a lot.  Curtis and Rory and Rene had all filled her in about Felicity and Oliver being together but not anymore--something Dinah had been able to figure out within about five minutes of seeing the two of them together--and how Oliver had accidentally killed Felicity’s new boyfriend, thanks to the manipulation of Prometheus.  Which made her understand, a bit more, why Oliver was so freaked out by the guy.  Felicity herself had been polite to Dinah--not what you would call friendly, but it was pretty clear the blonde had a lot on her mind, so Dinah didn’t take it personally.  It could take time for friendship to form, but since they were the only two women on the team, Dinah knew that at some point, it would happen.

Women had to have each other’s backs, especially in a room full of dudes.  

This wasn’t the first time Felicity had put in more hours than the rest of the team, so Dinah hadn’t been too shocked to see Felicity in the lair when she arrived.  But the woman sitting next to Felicity?  She was a stranger to Dinah, but in that nagging way of not being a stranger, either.

That was why Dinah kind of froze after taking three steps off the elevator.  The thumping of her boot heels had immediately drawn the other women’s attention, making Dinah feel awkward.  

Especially with the guilty looks on both Felicity and the stranger’s faces.  Which made Dinah feel curious  _ and  _ awkward.  

“Um, sorry, Felicity--I can--” Dinah began, for some reason gesturing towards the elevator with the hand holding her bag of food.

“No--no, come on in, Dinah,” Felicity said, still looking furtive.  “This is Thea.  She’s Oliver’s sister.”  

That explained why the fine-boned brunette looked familiar, Dinah realized.  This time, she held out the hand that wasn’t carrying her spicy noodles and shook Thea’s hand.  “It’s nice to meet you.”  

“Nice to meet you, too, Dinah,” Thea replied, a flicker going through her eyes.  A flicker that made Dinah suspect she had also known that Dinah Oliver had mentioned knowing.  

“If you two need me to leave, I can,” Dinah offered, but Felicity shook her head.  

“No--no, it’s fine!  We were just . . . having some girl talk.”  

Arching an eyebrow, Dinah looked back and forth between the two of them.  “You’re still friends after you broke up with Oliver?”  

“Wow, that was . . . blunt,” Thea said, folding her arms over her chest.  “You wanna ask how I feel about being a former drug addict next?”

“No, because I don’t know anything about that,” Dinah retorted, before she stopped and took a breath.  “Sorry.  I just don’t see the need to beat around the bush.  And clearly I’m interrupting something you two are planning, so I’ll just see myself out.”  

Felicity’s eyes widened, but to Dinah’s surprise, Thea grinned and nodded at her.  “Direct.  Nice.”  Thea looked at Felicity and nudged her.  “What do you think about . . .?”

“What?” Felicity asked, her eyebrows narrowed in confusion, but then she started shaking her head.  “Oh, no.  No no no.  I think the cop might have issues with what we’re planning.”  Felicity paused and flushed.  “And I shouldn’t have said that out loud.”   

This was making Dinah’s head hurt.  “Former cop, remember?  If I was still a cop, I’d have to turn myself in first for being a vigilante.  So what’s going on?”

Thea looked at Felicity, who just sighed and threw up her hands.  With another elfish grin, Thea turned to Dinah.  “Do you know Susan Williams?”

Dinah frowned.  “Oliver’s girlfriend Susan Williams?  The reporter?”

“Yes, the reporter who has a boatload of evidence to show that not only is the Mayor of Star City a still-active member of the Russian mob, but that he’s also the Green Arrow, too,” Felicity said, sounding a bit hysterical.  

It was a reaction Dinah could understand, at least partly.  Because this was not good.  She knew she had told Oliver to move on . . . but damn, did he have shitty luck or what?  But Felicity sounded really, really upset.  More than she should about an ex.  Dinah eyed Felicity, then turned back to Thea.  “So you want to stop her?”

Thea nodded.  “I warned her not to play me again,” she said, the words simple but full of barely-concealed menace.  There was a passion and commitment in Thea’s voice that made her rise in Dinah’s estimation.  This wasn’t a woman to double-cross.  

Neither was Felicity, Dinah knew.  Not with how she had started going down a dark path in Russia, much to Oliver’s dismay and worry.  

Dinah snagged one of the rolling chairs and sat down, plopping her bag of food into her lap.  She dug through the bag for her chopsticks and opened up the container of noodles, feeling Felicity and Thea’s eyes on her.  She looked up and met their gaze.  “I’m gonna eat while you tell me the plan, okay?”

“Are you sure you want to be involved--” Felicity began to ask, but Dinah cut her off.

“Oliver gave me a chance.  Besides, the last thing he needs is a girlfriend screwing him over,” Dinah said, holding Felicity’s eyes.  Because she might be new to the team, yeah, but she had her own opinions on how things stood between Oliver and Felicity.  And like she said, she didn’t beat around the bush.  

Felicity’s chin lifted as she got a steely cast to her eyes, but she nodded.  

“Good, we’re all in agreement,” Thea said.  “Let’s get started.”  

Sitting back, twirling her noodles around her chopsticks, Dinah listened and offered a few suggestions, but the plan was solid.  So that was how her night changed, from what she planned into what was happening right now.  

Namely, Susan Williams, zip-tied and blindfolded in front of her.  In front of them.

“Ready?” Thea said under her breath, rolling her head from side to side and shifting back and forth on her feet.  She was wearing a threadbare-looking red hoodie that was too big on her, as well as a red domino mask.  A lethal-looking sword was held in one of her hands.  

Dinah nodded.  Suddenly, Felicity nudged her.  

“What?” Dinah hissed.

“Breath mint,” Felicity whispered, holding an Altoids tin out to her.  “There’s only one place in Star City to get dan dan noodles.”  

Quirking an eyebrow, Dinah took the tin and popped a mint into her mouth.  She rolled it around, letting it melt, while Felicity went back to tapping away on her tablet.  

Since Dinah was the only one of the three whose voice Susan Williams wouldn’t recognize, she was the face woman, the one doing most of the talking.  Which was probably for the best, because Dinah wasn’t sure Thea or Felicity could stay grounded through this--if either woman could keep their emotions from getting the better of them.  

And she didn’t blame them.  She wanted to pop Susan in the mouth, too.  But that needed to wait until later.  Once they knew they had her where they wanted her.  

The mint had dissolved enough and Dinah tucked the remaining morsel in her cheek.  She strolled forward, noticing how Susan’s head jerked up when she picked up the sound of the approaching footsteps.  Dinah quirked her lips in a smirk and crunched loudly on her breath mint.  

“Susan Williams, you have failed this city.”

XXX

Dinah was pretty good at this, Thea had to admit.  Clearly, having an ex-cop was going to help the team with interrogating bad guys.  Not that Ollie did a bad job with it--her brother could get downright scary.  Unless you were his little sister and remembered how a fourteen-year-old Oliver had a crush on preschool Thea’s babysitter.  

It had been fun to tease Ollie about that.  It had always been fun to tease Ollie about girls.  Even when it came to Susan, although Thea’s teasing had been more like warnings.  Because she couldn’t flat-out tell her very stubborn, very heart-broken brother that Susan was bad news and he would be better off waiting for Felicity to inevitably come around.  So Thea had given Susan a warning and tried to let her brother manage things on his own.  

Well, this was the last time she let him do that.  As soon as they dealt with Susan, she was going to sit down with Felicity, get her drunk, and make her admit she still had feelings for Ollie.  

But first: Susan Williams.  

Thea walked around Susan’s chair slowly, her steps sauntering and graceful.  She swung her sword in a series of arcs, letting it whistle through the air.  Occasionally, it went right past Susan’s head, and although the woman was trying really hard to hide her flinches, Thea could see them.  And so could Dinah.  

“How did you get the intel on Mayor Queen?” Dinah asked again.  “You want to tell me, or should I bring in my associate?”  

As if they had planned it, Thea sliced her sword through the air above Susan’s head.  She made sure to keep enough space so that when Susan belatedly jumped, the sword was still nowhere near her.  

Physical pain wasn’t the goal tonight.  They needed to break the spirit, the will of Susan Williams.  

Thea had warned Susan: if she crossed Thea again, she would be lucky to have a blog.  It was time for her to see that Thea Queen hadn’t been the daughter of Moira Dearden Queen for nothing.  There was no such thing as an idle threat to Thea’s mother.  

And it was the same for Thea.  Because just like her mother had protected her son, Thea was going to protect her big brother.

Susan was being stubborn, though.  The woman gritted her teeth.  “I told you.  I will not reveal a source.”  

“We’re not talking about getting thrown in a nice, cushy jail for contempt of court,” Dinah said, derision dripping from every word.  “There’s no due process here, Ms. Williams.”  

“All the more reason to stand fast on my principles,” Susan said mulishly.  “I’ve done nothing wrong.”  

Thea shook her head at Dinah, who understood the silent message to follow Thea towards the back, where Felicity was standing and still working on her tablet.  “What?” Dinah asked.  

“I got a tip from Ollie’s security detail.  She slept with Ollie,” Thea said in a hushed voice.  She saw how Felicity’s head jerked up, staring at Thea.  

“I bet she did it to get more evidence,” Thea continued, keeping her eyes on Dinah.  

Dinah nodded and walked back over towards Susan.  Thea went to follow, but Felicity grabbed her elbow.  

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” Felicity asked, her cheeks flushed.  

“I was hoping to not tell you like this,” Thea admitted.  She eyed Felicity.  “Why, are you bothered by Ollie sleeping with Susan?”

Behind her glasses, Felicity blinked, looking totally thrown by the question.  Then she quickly shook her head and let go of Thea’s elbow, adjusting her grip on her tablet.  “I--I should only need another few minutes to finish planting the altered files,” Felicity said, fumbling in the pocket of her coat and producing a flash drive.  “Then I just press a button and she’s destroyed.”  

“Gotcha,” Thea said with a nod.  She stepped away, falling into position with Dinah again.  

Dinah stalked around Susan’s chair.  “You won’t give up your source.  But you did more than just hire a private detective to dig up dirt on Mayor Queen, didn’t you?” Dinah asked.  

“I won’t reveal anything about how I acquired--”

“You slept with him,” Dinah interrupted.  “Don’t bother denying it.  We know you have.  It took some time to get him into bed, didn’t it?  Must have really messed up your timeline.”  

Susan’s mouth was hanging open and Thea smirked.  She snapped her sword through the air sharply, jolting Susan into talking.  

“That--my relationship with Oliver has nothing--it’s not like that,” she stuttered.

Letting out a sarcastic bark of laughter, Dinah leaned down, getting into Susan’s face.  “You really expect me to buy that?  C’mon, Susan.  Girl to girl.”

With a grimace, Susan shook her head, as if she was trying to knock loose the blindfold.  Thea stepped up and tightened it, making sure the cloth stayed in place.  Then she watched in silent approval as Dinah cupped Susan’s face in her hand tightly, her fingers digging into Susan’s flesh.  

“Tell us the truth,” Dinah ordered.

Susan yanked her head free of Dinah’s grip, melodramatically moving her jaw before speaking.  “Sleeping with Oliver helped support my research,” she said calmly.  “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings for him.”  

“Some feelings,” Dinah sneered.  

Thea circled around to face Susan, gripping her sword tighter.  Because how dare this woman take advantage of her brother?  How dare this woman claim she had feelings for Ollie when she was building a case that would destroy everything he had built for himself?  

The darkness she hadn’t felt for over a year, the darkness that set up an itch under her skin, rose inside Thea.  She imagined lifting her sword and opening up slices on either of Susan’s cheeks.  Letting the blood drip down her face, staining her smart white dress, looking like poppies on the snow.  

Would that be enough to satisfy the beast inside her?  Thea didn’t know.  She doubted it.  Because now she could see a horizontal slash across Susan’s neck.  A deep one.  

Sucking in a breath, Thea edged back from Susan and Dinah.  With her free hand, she reached up and gripped the hoodie she was wearing.  Roy’s hoodie.  One she had stolen from him at some point when they were dating, one that she had never given back to him.  It was what she wore when she needed to feel loved, no matter what.  

She closed her eyes and breathed a few more times, only opening her eyes when she felt a hand on her back. 

Twisting to look over her shoulder, Thea saw Felicity gazing at her.  There was that soft, sympathetic expression on her face, the kind of expression Thea hadn’t seen on Felicity’s face in months.  Since long before she broke up with Ollie.  

“Are you okay?” Felicity whispered.  

“We--we need to break her and fast,” Thea panted softly.  “Or else my bloodlust is going to get the better of me.”   

Felicity’s eyes widened in understanding and she nodded quickly.  “Step back.  I’ll take over.”  

Thea did as Felicity said, edging towards the back wall.  She didn’t know what Felicity was going to do, but she wasn’t sure if she was going to pull this off.  Because what did Felicity know about being threatening and dangerous?  

Maybe she had learned something from Ollie?

XXX

Squaring her shoulders, Felicity looked down at her tablet.  Everything was ready to take out Susan.  It was just a matter of presenting the information, letting her realize her utter destruction and see what she would decide.  

Felicity didn’t know how she wanted Susan to decide.  If she wanted Susan to back down, to admit that her feelings for Oliver were stronger than a career-making story.  Or if she wanted Susan to play chicken with them, to see if they could really wipe out Susan’s professional reputation.  

And when she said ‘they’, Felicity meant her.  If Felicity could wipe out another woman’s career, to take away her livelihood and passion.  

Looking at the woman before her, her defiance rolling off her in waves, despite her crumpled white dress and disheveled hair, Felicity knew the answer.  

When it came to Oliver, she would utterly destroy Susan Williams.  But she wasn’t in a position to examine why she felt like she could do this for him.

She pressed the button on the collar of her dress.  “Ms. Williams,” she said, her voice distorted to camouflage her identity.  “Do you know who Stephen Glass, Jayson Blair, Jonah Lehrer, Fareed Zakaria and Maureen Dowd are?” 

Dinah stepped back silently, providing backup and letting her run the show.  Felicity’s eyes were locked on Susan, who had tilted her head at the sound of a new voice.  

“They’re journalists,” Susan answered after a long moment.  

“Correct!” Felicity said jauntily.  “They have something else in common, though.  Something very pertinent to our conversation today.”  

Susan looked like she had sucked on a lemon.  “They were all accused of plagiarism.  But that’s not pertinent.  I’m not a plagiarist.”

“Aren’t you?” Felicity asked, walking around Susan, her heels clicking against the floor of the warehouse.  “Because . . . oh, my.  It looks like suddenly, there are going to be several questions raised about your past work.  It appears that your portfolio is just riddled with fabrications and lack of complete attribution and copying material from other publications.”  

“That’s not possible,” Susan said, raising her chin.  “You would have to radically rewrite content--but there are always print copies to back me up.”  

Felicity smirked.  Susan had walked right into Felicity’s trap.  Because yes, she was right.  There were print copies . . . of the articles she had written.  

“That’s true.  In those cases, I just appended some corrections to certain articles in their online archives.  Corrections that weren’t able to make it into the final print copy,” Felicity explained.  

Susan frowned.  Dinah moved towards Felicity, her back to Susan as she whispered, “Is that going to be enough?”  

Felicity held up a finger, asking Dinah to let her continue.  The other woman nodded and took another step back.

“If you think that’s enough to get me a reputation as a plagiarist--” Susan began, but Felicity interrupted her.  

“That’s just the start, though.  Certain of your broadcasts have been edited, modified, finessed to appear like other reporters’ work.  Other reports now have a distinct appearance of favoritism.  Which will be backed up by the financial paper trail I created,” Felicity continued.  

The reporter’s mouth dropped open, her head moving in a slow shake of her head.  Like she didn’t want to believe it.  “W-what?” she gasped.  

“Plagiarism isn’t enough to destroy you, Ms. Williams,” Felicity said.  “You could come back from that--Maureen Dowd did, Fareed Zakaria did.  But combined with allegations of influence peddling and bribery?  That will wipe you out, don’t you think?”

Dinah grinned and nudged Felicity, drawing her attention.  Looking over, Felicity smiled at the sight of Dinah giving her a thumbs up.  Then she turned her head as she heard Thea’s soft footsteps.  The younger woman looked steadier, not in the grips of her bloodlust.  And she was smiling at Felicity, looking impressed.  

Returning her gaze to Susan, Felicity felt an incredible sense of gratification.  Because as great as the approval of her team felt, it felt even better to see Susan clearly on the verge of losing it.  Her face was going red and she was yanking on her bindings.  

“You can’t do that--it’s not true--it won’t hold up!”

“Oh, you don’t see what I do,” Felicity said.  “A push of the button, and it all goes live, and a full dossier goes to all your former employers, as well as Channel 52 News here in Star City.  And oooh, if I see a button, I just want to press it!”  

Felicity could hear that manic edge in her voice that she got whenever she quoted--or in this case, paraphrased--the Doctor, but she felt a bit manic.  Because she knew she had Susan.  

“You--you--you  _ bitch _ !” Susan sputtered.  

Grinning, Felicity remembered the last time she had been called a bitch by someone who she was interrogating.  She could still remember Digg’s grin at her response.  

“Bitch with wifi,” Felicity replied.  “So, you will turn over every bit of intel you uncovered about Mayor Queen.  Every scrap of paper, every single hard copy document.  All your online versions are already permanently deleted, by the way.  You will mail your files to this address,” Felicity said, nodding to Dinah who moved forward to stick the address, written on an index card, into one of Susan’s hands.  

“If you agree, and guarantee that you will never share your knowledge with anyone else, that no one will ever know what you’ve learned about Mayor Queen . . . nothing will happen to your career.  We won’t even interfere with your relationship with Mayor Queen.  Although I’d advise you to reconsider your relationship with him,” Felicity said, that last sentence not part of the plan but just tumbling out of her mouth.

Swallowing, Felicity lifted her chin.  “Do we have an agreement?”  

Susan Williams had a pretty good poker face.  But Felicity Smoak had grown up in Vegas, and the gamblers there would have eaten Susan for breakfast.  So she knew before the woman had opened her mouth that she was going to agree.  

“Fine,” Susan said, her voice full of barely-concealed rage.  “I’ll give up my hard copies and not publish anything about what Mayor Queen’s past is or how he spends his nights.”  

Felicity nodded to Dinah, who cut the zip ties and then marched Susan out of the warehouse, to the car that was waiting to take her back to Star City.  It wasn’t until Dinah came back inside that Felicity relaxed, her shoulders sagging.  

“Do you think she’ll follow through on her side of the bargain?” Dinah asked as she approached them.  

“She better, or else I’ll just press this button,” Felicity said, gesturing to the screen of her tablet.  

“How did you do all that?” Thea asked, trying to get a look at the screen.  “I mean, I know you’re the best, Felicity, but you did all that so quickly.” 

Pasting on a grin, Felicity casually unplugged the flash drive from her tablet and tucked it into her pocket.  “Oh, I asked for help from a few of my contacts.”

Dinah’s gaze sharpened on Felicity, but then she nodded and stretched out one of her hands, palm down.  “I don’t think Williams will be giving us any problems.”

Thea grinned and covered Dinah’s hand.  “And hopefully she’ll be breaking up with Ollie really soon.”  

Both of them turned to look at Felicity, who felt her smile grow more natural.  “To bitches getting shit done,” she said, putting her hand on top of the pile.  

All of them laughed and chanted in unison, “To bitches getting shit done!”

It was a moment of connection, of sharing.  A perfect time for Felicity to reveal, to two women who understood darkness, just what she had done.  

But instead, she kept her mouth shut.

End.

 


End file.
